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Butler’s  Miscellanies 


TRIAL  BY  JURY, 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION, 
AND  OTHER  PIECES. 


By  NOBLE  BUTLER, 

AUTHOR  OF  BUTLER’S  GRAMMARS,  AMERICAN  SCHOOL  READERS,  ETC. 


LOUISVILLE: 

JOHN  P.  MORTON  AND  COMPANY. 
PHILADELPHIA: 

CLAXTON,  REMSEN,  AND  HAFFELFINGER. 


PREFACE. 


Most  of  the  things  that  I have  written  were  burned  with  my 

house.  A few,  however,  escaped.  The  essay  on  Burns  was  written 

at  the  request  of  George  D.  Prentice  and  published  as  editorial  in 

...  fi  the  “Louisville  Journal,”  and  the  essay  on  Wordsworth  was  written 

at  the  request  of  Mr.  Prentice’s  partner,  George  W.  Weissinger,  and 

it  too  was  published  as  editorial  in  the  same  journal.  Most  of  the 

articles  have  been  written  in  later  years. 

There  are  some  verses  in  the  volume;  but  the  Muse’s  visits  to  me 

have  been  “short  and  far  between.”  Whenever  she  came — if  it  was 
P'S  ' 

the  Muse  that  came — she  saw  how  busy  I was  and  would  not  take 
off  her  shawl  and  bonnet. 


(3) 

i 043 i 63 


CONTENTS. 


Trial  by  Jury 7 

Robert  Burns 35 

The  Philosophy  of  Composition 43 

Concerning  Bulls 64 

Oliver  Goldsmith 75 

Home  and  School 86 

Pronunciation  of  Certain  Words 90 

Helen  and  the  Trojan  Chiefs 98 

“There  can  not  be  More  than  One  First” 103 

Some  Verbal  Forms 109 

Lady  Macbeth 123 

Extracts  from  a Lecture  on  Entomology 136 

The  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache 144 

What  is  a Pronoun? 147 

The  Druids 152 

Ben  Jonson  on  Shakespeare 157 

The  Eating  Animal 167 

Some  Comments  on  Shakespeare’s  Commentators 17 1 

Coleridge’s  Translation  of  Schiller 177 

Some  Shakespeare  “Readings” 181 

Wordsworth’s  Poetry 186 

Civilized  Warfare 195 

Longing 198 

Horticulture 199 

The  Spirit  of  Chivalry 206 

The  Blue-jay 214 


(5) 


/,  0 U 


n ! !,  \{\  VIKillriVir.ll 

6 CONTENTS. 

Bridal  Song  of  the  Maidens  of  La  Vendee 215 

“Glorious  Victory’’ 217 

Shakespeare  a Farmer 219 

The  Brahmin  and  the  Rogues 228 

Defense  of  General  Hull 231 

Fashion 237 

Dreaming  to  Order 242 

We  have  changed  all  that 245 

American  Songsters 250 

Alexander  Pope 255 

The  Daughter  of  Judah 259 

The  Bluebird 261 

Thomas  Hood 262 

Note.  Tom  Hood  the  Younger 309 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


HE  learned  Sergeant  Wynne,  speaking  of  the  trial  by 


jury,  says,  “ Caput  inter  nubila  condit ” (it  hides  its  head 
among  the  clouds),  referring  not  to  the  character  of  its  decis- 
ions, as  some  might  suppose,  but  to  its  origin,  which  is  lost  in 
the  mists  of  antiquity.  Palgrave  and  others  assign  a more 
recent  origin,  asserting  that  trial  by  jury,  in  the  sense  in  which 
we  use  the  term,  was  not  known  until  the  reign  of  Henry  II. 
From  internal  evidence  I am  inclined  to  believe  in  the  cloudy 
origin.  The  idea  of  binding  twelve  men  by  oath  to  give  a 
conscientious  decision  and  then  compelling  them  to  unanimity 
must  have  originated  in  an  age  of  clouds;*  and  even  in  the 
darkest  age  such  a plan  of  obtaining  justice  could  never  have 
presented  itself  at  once  in  all  its  features. 

Sharon  Turner,  who  asserts  that  the  principle  of  this  system 
may  be  traced  to  the  earliest  Anglo-Saxon  times, f says,  “ It  is 
not  contested  that  the  institution  of  a jury  existed  in  the  time 
of  the  Conqueror,”  and  gives  as  proof  of  this  the  dispute  be- 
tween Gundulf,  the  bishop  of  Rochester,  and  Pichot,  a sheriff. 
“ The  question  was,  Whether  some  lands  belonged  to  the  church 
or  to  the  king.  The  king  commanded  that  all  the  men  of  the 
county  should  be  gathered  together,  that  by  their  judgment  it 


*The  Greeks  had  their  dixaffTCU,  the  Romans  their  judices ; but  the  idea  of 
unanimity  never  entered  their  minds. 

•{•This  mode  of  trial  has  been  generally  considered  of  entirely  Anglo-Saxon 
origin;  but  recent  investigation  has  shown  among  the  Norman  usages  traces  of 
something  resembling  our  trial  by  jury  more  than  does  any  thing  known  to  have 
existed  among  the  Anglo-Saxons. 


8 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


might  be  more  justly  ascertained  to  whom  the  land  belonged. 
They,  being  assembled,  from  fear  of  the  sheriff  affirmed  that 
the  land  was  the  king’s;  but  as  the  bishop  of  Bayeux,  who 
presided  at  that  placitum,  did  not  believe  them,  he  ordered  that, 
if  they  knew  that  what  they  said  was  true,  they  should  choose 
twelve  from  among  themselves,  who  should  confirm  with  an 
oath  what  all  had  declared.  But  these  when  they  had  with- 
drawn to  counsel,  and  were  harassed  by  the  sheriff  through  his 
messenger,  returned  and  swore  to  the  truth  of  what  they  as- 
serted. By  this  decision  the  land  became  the  king’s.  But  a 
monk,  who  knew  how  the  fact  really  stood,  assured  the  bishop 
of  Rochester  of  the  falsehood  of  their  oath,  who  communicated 
the  information  to  the  bishop  of  Bayeux.  The  bishop,  after 
hearing  the  monk,  sent  for  one  of  the  twelve,  who,  falling  at 
his  feet,  confessed  that  he  had  forsworn  himself.  The  man  on 
whose  oath  they  had  sworn  theirs  made  a similar  avowal.  On 
this  the  bishop  ordered  the  sheriff  to  send  the  rest  to  London, 
and  twelve  other  men  from  the  best  in  the  county  to  be  sum- 
moned, who  confirmed  that  to  be  true  to  which  they  had  sworn. 
They  were  all  adjudged  to  be  perjured,  because  the  man  whose 
evidence  they  had  accredited  had  avowed  his  perjury.  The 
church  recovered  the  land,  and  when  the  last  twelve  wished  to 
affirm  that  they  had  not  consented  with  those  who  had  sworn, 
the  bishop  said  they  must  prove  this  by  the  iron  ordeal.  And 
because  they  undertook  this  and  could  not  do  it,  they  were 
fined  ^300  to  the  king  by  the  judgment  of  other  men  of  the 
county.” 

Mr.  Turner  adds,  “By  this  narration  we  find  that  a shire- 
gemot  determined  on  the  dispute  in  the  first  instance ; but  that 
in  consequence  of  the  doubts  of  the  presiding  judge  they 
chose  from  among  themselves  twelve,  who  swore  to  the  truth 
of  what  they  had  decided,  and  whose  determination  decided 
the  case.” 

If  this  not  very  perspicuous  narration  is  a history  of  a trial 
by  jury,  it  is  rather  remarkable  that  the  two  first  juries  of  which 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


9 


we  have  an  account  were  perjured — a not  very  creditable  cir- 
cumstance for  the  “palladium  of  our  liberties.7’  But  the  jury 
in  this  case  seems  to  have  been  in  reality  a jury  of  witnesses. 
Their  determination  did  not  “decide  the  case;”  for  the  land 
went  to  the  church  contrary  to  the  “determination”  of  the 
juries.  The  verdict  was  rather,  in  mercantile  language,  an 
“indorsement”  of  the  witness;  and  because  the  jurors  had 
sworn  to  the  credibility  of  one  who  afterward  confessed  that 
his  testimony  was  false  they  were  fined  for  perjury,  having  first 
attempted  the  ordeal  of  hot  iron,  and  having  succeeded  only 
in  “burning  their  fingers”  — a result,  by  the  way,  which  is 
attained  by  a large  number  of  those  who  enter  courts  in  our 
own  day. 

Our  forefathers  settled  their  difficulties  in  the  simplest  man- 
ner. If  a man  was  accused  of  a crime,  he  had  only  to  carry  a 
red-hot  bar  of  iron  a few  steps  without  seriously  burning  him- 
self, or  plunge  his  arm  into  boiling  water  without  scalding 
himself,  or  swallow  the  consecrated  morsel  without  choking 
himself.  The  trial  by  ordeal  is  generally  considered  inferior 
to  the  trial  by  jury;  but  there  is  something  to  be  said  on  both 
sides.  If  a good-natured  priest  could  be  met  with,  who,  with- 
out placing  too  high  a price  upon  his  good  nature,  could  be 
persuaded  to  see  the  iron  hot  when  it  was  not  so  very  hot,  and  to 
see  the  water  boil  when  it  was  not  boiling  so  very  violently,  or 
who  could  be  taught  to  be  ignorant  of  the  means  of  keeping  up 
the  fire,  the  case  of  the  accused  was  not  so  very  bad.  And  then 
the  trial  by  ordeal  had  this  advantage,  that  the  decision  was  con- 
sidered by  the  people  generally  as  a decision  of  Heaven.  In  our 
day  there  have  been  found  persons  who  believe  that  good  and 
wise  men  come  from  the  spirit-land  to  talk  nonsense,  and  persons 
who  believe  in  the  virtue  of  professional  politicians,  but  of  one 
who  believes  the  decision  in  the  trial  by  jury  to  be  a decision 
of  Heaven  we  have  never  yet  heard. 

Another  mode  of  trial  among  our  ancestors  was  the  trial  by 
compurgation.  In  this  species  of  trial  the  party  made  his  dec- 


IO 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


laration  and  produced  a number  of  persons  who  on  their  oaths 
expressed  their  belief  in  his  veracity.  The  opposing  party  also 
brought  forward  his  compurgators,  and  the  trial  became  a mere 
arithmetical  affair.  The  cause  was  gained  by  him  who  had  the 
greater  number  on  his  side — or  rather  the  greater  “worth;”  for 
the  relative  value  of  each  man  was  fixed,  one  thegn,  for  instance, 
being  equal  to  six  ceorls.  In  a “learned  judge”  of  those  times 
nothing  was  required  but  the  ability  to  count  his  fingers.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  a great  advance  has  been  made  since 
those  times;  for  in  our  day  even  a juryman  is  presumed  to 
know  how  to  “add  up  and  divide  by  twelve.” 

In  the  trial  by  compurgation  the  witnesses  were  not  sup- 
posed to  know  any  thing  of  the  point  at  issue,  but  in  the  course 
of  time  the  idea  began  to  present  itself  dimly  that  it  would  be 
better  that  witnesses  should  know  something  of  the  matter  in 
controversy.  Then  it  became  evident  that  the  number  of 
people  assembled  in  the  gemots  was  inconveniently  large  when 
the  testimony  required  to  be  sifted.  Nothing  corresponding  to 
our  idea  of  judge  existed  at  that  time.  God  himself  was  judge, 
and  gave  his  decision  by  the  ordeal,  or  in  a less  direct  way  by 
the  compurgation.  The  assembled  people  could  see  whether 
the  hand  was  burned  or  scalded,  and  could  see  to  whom  the 
favor  of  Heaven  granted  the  greater  number,  or  rather  the 
greater  “worth,”  of  compurgators.  The  proceedings  in  the 
trial  by  compurgation ‘assisted  the  people  in  coming  to  the  idea 
of  a committee,  and  the  fact  of  their  taking  an  oath  gave  them 
the  name  of  jurors.  At  first  the  number  of  these  jurors  was 
not  always  limited  to  twelve,  and  unanimity  was  not  required 
in  a verdict.  This  last  sublime  principle  was  gradually  attained 
in  later  times.  No  single  age  could  have  risen  to  it;  it  required 
several  ages  standing  one  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  other  to 
reach  it  in  its  home  among  the  clouds. 

The  connection  between  the  old  and  the  new  principle  seems 
to  be  shown  in  the  form  once  employed  in  the  courts,  “How 
will  you  be  tried?”  To  which  the  culprit  was  to  reply,  “By 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


II 


God  and  my  country ;”  the  former  part  of  the  culprit’s  reply 
being  merely  a reminiscence  of  the  olden  time,  and  the  latter 
referring  to  the  theory  of  the  jury-system.  The  clerk  in  his 
statement  to  the  jury  said,  “ For  this  trial  he  puts  himself  upon 
God  and  the  country,  which  country  you  are,”  thus  bidding  a 
decent  farewell  to  God  and  separating  him  from  the  proceed- 
ings. In  more  modern  times  the  form  has  been  changed,  and 
God  is  altogether  forgotten. 

I have  said  that  we  have  never  yet  heard  of  one  who  con- 
sidered the  decision  by  jury  a decision  by  Heaven;  but  Mr. 
Sergeant  Wynne  comes  very  near  it.  He  says  that  the  jury- 
system  is  “the  noblest  form  of  policy  that  was  ever  invented 
on  earth,  and  comes  nearest  the  impartiality  of  Heaven.”  And 
many  others  have  tried  to  lash  themselves  into  enthusiasm  on 
the  subject.  Blackstone  says,  “ It  is  a constitution  that  I may 
venture  to  affirm  has,  under  Providence,  secured  the  just  liber- 
ties of  this  nation  for  a long  succession  of  ages.  And  therefore 
a celebrated  French  writer*  who  concludes  that  because  Rome, 
Sparta,  and  Carthage  have  lost  their  liberties,  therefore  those 
of  England  in  turn  must  perish,  should  have  recollected  that 
Rome,  Sparta,  and  Carthage,  at  the  time  when  their  liberties 
were  lost,  were  strangers  to  the  trial  by  jury.” 

Sharon  Turner  speaks  of  the  trial  by  jury  as  “a  tree  so  beau- 
tiful and  so  venerable.”  Go  into  almost  any  court -room  in 
which  a lawyer  is  addressing  a jury,  and  you  will  hear  him 
speak  of  “the  palladium  of  our  liberties.”  If  you  choose  to 
inquire  what  the  learned  advocate  means  by  these  words,  you 
will  learn  that  he  is  describing  the  twelve  gentlemen,  learned  in 
the  law,  who  are  sitting  in  the  box  before  him,  and  that  the 
idea  he  wishes  to  convey  is  that  they  are  to  decide  in  his  favor. 
You  may  also  hear  him,  in  the  language  of  Sergeant  Buzfuz, 
congratulating  his  client  on  having  appealed  to  “an  enlight- 
ened, a high-minded,  a right-feeling,  a conscientious,  a dispas- 
sionate, a sympathising,  a contemplative  jury  of  his  civilized 

* Montesquieu. 


12 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


countrymen.”  Dickens’s  Sergeant  Buzfuz  is  not  the  only  one 
of  the  family,  nor  has  he  an  exclusive  right  to  the  use  of  those 
truthful  and  significant  epithets.  His  brethren  have  employed 
them  before  him,  and  they  will  employ  them  after  him,  with  all 
the  candor  of  Sergeant  Buzfuz.  To  a lawyer  in  court  the  jury- 
system  in  general  is  the  palladium  of  our  liberties,  and  the  par- 
ticular jury  he  is  addressing  is  the  palladium  of  palladiums, 
being  composed  of  the  most  intelligent,  most  high-minded,  and 
most  impartial  gentlemen  that  a jury-box  is  capable  of  holding. 

What  is  a jury?  The  general  theory  of  the  trial  by  jury  is 
simple  enough;  namely,  that  the  jury  decides  upon  the  facts  of 
the  case,  while  the  judge  decides  upon  the  law.  It  consists  of 
twelve  men,  who  must  never  have  formed  and  expressed  an 
opinion  upon  the  subject  before  the  court,  and  who  must  come 
to  a unanimous  decision. 

As  to  the  number,  Sir  Edward  Coke  seems  to  think  that 
twelve  is  a very  proper  number,  inasmuch  as  there  were  twelve 
apostles,  twelve  tribes  of  Israel,  etc.  On  the  whole  probably 
the  best  reason  is  that  twelve  men  make  a dozen;  and  so  we 
may  let  the  number  pass. 

As  to  the  province  of  the  jury,  the  practice  makes  sad  havoc 
of  the  general  theory.  Those  who  defend  the  system  on  gen- 
eral principles  always  speak  of  the  jurors  as  judges  of  fact 
merely;  but  when  we  go  into  the  courts  we  find  that  they  are 
judges  of  law  as  well  as  of  fact.  From  the  earliest  time  at 
which  the  courts  began  to  approach  regularity  in  form  there 
has  prevailed  a controversy  in  regard  to  the  powers  and  rights 
of  juries.  The  uncertainty  probably  arose  from  the  unscientific 
way  in  which  matters  were  decided  by  the  gemots  or  assemblies 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  people. 

In  the  first  year  of  the  English  commonwealth  Lieutenant- 
colonel  John  Lilburn  was  prosecuted  for  high  treason,  the 
specifications  being  that  he  had  declared  the  government  to 
be  “ tyrannical,  usurped,  and  unlawful,”  and  that  he  had  at- 
tempted to  stir  up  sedition  in  the  army.  In  the  course  of  the 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


r3 


trial  Lilburn  claimed  the  privilege  of  addressing  the  jury, 
“who,”  said  he,  “are  in  law  judges  of  law  as  well  as  fact,  and 
you  (the  judges)  only  the  pronouncers  of  their  sentence,  will, 
and  mind.”  To  which  one  of  the  judges,  Lord  Keble,  replied, 
“Master  Lilburn,  quietly  express  yourself,  and  you  do  well; 
the  jury  are  judges  of  matter  of  fact  altogether,  and  Judge 
Coke  says  so : But  I tell  you  the  opinion  of  the  Court,  they  are 
not  judges  of  matter  of  law.”  “The  jury,”  replies  Lilburn, 
“by  law  are  not  only  judges  of  fact,  but  of  law  also;  and  you 
that  call  yourselves  judges  of  the  law  are  no  more  but  Norman 
intruders;  and  indeed  and  in  truth,  if  the  jury  please,  are  no 
more  but  cyphers  to  pronounce  their  verdict.”  At  this  another 
of  the  judges,  Justice  Jermin,  exclaimed  in  a rather  Dogberryish 
style,  “Was  there  ever  such  a damnable,  blasphemous  heresy  as 
this  is  to  call  the  judges  of  the  law  cyphers!”  Lilburn  then 
offered  to  read  from  Coke  in  support  of  his  position,  and  Judge 
Jermin  cried  out,  “You  can  not  be  suffered  to  read  the  law; 
you  have  broached  an  erroneous  opinion,  that  the  jury  are  the 
judges  of  the  law,  which  is  enough  to  destroy  all  the  law  in  the 
land.  There  was  never  such  damnable  heresy  broached  in  this 
nation  before.”  But  Lilburn  would  read;  and  he  produced 
from  Coke  the  following  passage : “ In  this  case  the  recognitors 
of  the  assize  may  say  and  render  to  the  justices  their  verdict  at 
large  upon  the  whole  matter;”  that  is,  give  a general  verdict 
deciding  both  the  law  and  the  fact.  The  following  passages 
also  he  quotes  from  Coke : “ Here  it  is  to  be  observed  that  a 
special  verdict  or  at  large  may  be  given  in  any  action  and  upon 
any  issue,  be  the  issue  general  or  special.”  “Although  the  jury, 
if  they  will  take  upon  them  (as  Littleton  here  saith)  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  law,  may  give  a general  verdict.”  The  passage  in 
Littleton  to  which  Coke  refers  is  brought  forward:  “Also  in 
such  case,  where  the  inquest  may  give  their  verdict  at  large,  if 
they  will  take  upon  them  the  knowledge  of  the  law,  upon  the 
matter  they  may  give  their  verdict  generally.”  In  the  course 
of  the  proceedings  Lilburn  again  says,  “And  therefore  as  a 


14 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


free-born  Englishman,  and  as  a true  Christian  that  now  stands 
in  the  sight  and  presence  of  God,  with  an  upright  heart  and 
conscience,  and  with  a cheerful  countenance,  I cast  my  life  and 
the  lives  of  all  the  honest  freemen  of  England  into  the  hands 
of  God,  and  his  gracious  protection,  and  into  the  care  and  con- 
science of  my  honest  jury  and  fellow-citizens;  who,  I again 
declare,  by  the  law  of  England  are  the  conservators  and  sole 
judges  of  my  life,  having  inherent  in  them  alone  the  judicial 
power  of  the  law,  as  well  as  fact;  you  judges  that  sit  there 
being  no  more,  if  they  please,  but  cyphers  to  pronounce  the 
sentence,  or  their  clerks  to  say  amen  to  them ; being  at  the  best 
in  your  original  but  the  Norman  Conqueror’s  intruders-.” 

The  jury  rendered  a verdict  of  “not  guilty.”  In  the  report 
of  the  proceedings  in  the  collection  of  State  Trials  it  is  stated 
that  “immediately  the  whole  multitude  of  people  in  the  Hall, 
for  joy  of  the  prisoner’s  acquittal,  gave  such  a loud  and  unani- 
mous shout  as  is  believed  was  never  heard  in  Guild-Hall,  which 
lasted  for  about  half  an  hour  without  intermission ; which  made 
the  judges  for  fear  turn  pale  and  hang  down  their  heads.”  In 
Neal’s  “History  of  the  Puritans”  we  are  told  that  an  engraving 
was  published  representing  Lilburn  standing  at  the  bar,  and  on 
the  upper  part  of  the  engraving  was  the  head  of  Lilburn,  with 
this  inscription,  “John  Lilburn,  saved  by  the  power  of  the 
Lord  and  the  integrity  of  his  jury,  who  are  judges  of  law  as 
well  as  fact.  October  6,  1646.”  The  date  is  evidently  a mis- 
take for  October  26,  1649. 

John  Lilburn  was  a man  whose  bravery  it  is  impossible  not 
to  admire.  He  feared  neither  king  nor  commons,  bishops  nor 
assemblies.  He  had  been  before  the  Star  Chamber  for  his 
attacks  on  King  Charles  and  the  bishops,  and  had  been  con- 
demned, among  other  punishments,  to  be  whipped  through  the 
streets  of  London  at  the  tail  of  a cart.  While  the  scourge  was 
flaying  his  back  he  denounced  the  king  and  the  bishops.  The 
Star  Chamber  ordered  him  to  be  gagged,  and  the  unconquered 
man  spoke  with  his  feet  and  hands  by  stamping  and  furious 


TRiAL  BY  JURY.  1 5 

gesticulations.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  “ could  not  live  with- 
out a quarrel ; 77  that  “if  he  were  left  alone  in  the  world,  he 
would  have  to  divide  himself  in  two,  and  set  the  John  to  fight 
with  the  Lilburn  and  the  Lilburn  with  the  John.'7*  He  ex- 
pressed contempt  for  the  Assembly  of  Divines  at  W estminster 
by  calling  them  an  “Assembly  of  Dry-vines.77  When  Charles 
and  the  bishops  were  gone  he  attacked  Cromwell  and  the  Par- 
liament, was  tried  and,  as  we  have  seen,  was  acquitted.  But 
nothing  could  silence  him,  and  in  January,  1651,  he  was  ban- 
ished by  act  of  Parliament.  In  June,  1653,  he  returned,  and 
was  tried  upon  the  act  for  his  banishment.  Another  jury  pro- 
nounced a verdict  of  “not  guilty77  in  his  favor.  The  Council 
of  State  wished  to  learn  the  grounds  of  the  verdict,  and  sum- 
moned the  jurors  before  them.  They  assigned  as  the  reason 
for  their  verdict  that  they  considered  themselves  judges  of  the 
law  as  well  as  of  fact;  but  they  did  not  explain  how  this  opinion 
led  to  the  verdict.  “ James  Stevens,  of  the  Old-Baily,  haber- 
dasher, saith,  ‘That  he  was  satisfied  that  the  prisoner  was  the 
John  Lilburn  mentioned  in  the  act;  nor  did  he  yet  question 
the  validity  of  the  act.  But  the  jury  having  weighed  all  which 
was  said,  and  conceiving  themselves  (notwithstanding  what  was 
said  by  the  Council  and  Bench  to  the  contrary)  to  be  judges  of 
law  as  well  as  of  fact,  they  found  him  not  guilty.77  f 

This  point,  one  would  think,  ought  to  have  got  itself  settled 
in  some  way  between  that  time  and  the  reign  of  George  III. 
But  when  Erskine  made  his  celebrated  argument  on  “ the  rights 
of  juries,77  in  which  his  object  was  to  prove  that  juries  are 
judges  of  law  as  well  as  of  fact  in  prosecutions  for  libel,  the 
point  was  decided  against  him.  Lord  Mansfield  in  giving  the 
decision  laid  it  down  as  a long-settled  point  that  juries  were  to 
determine  the  fact  of  publication  and  the  meaning  of  particular 
words,  leaving  the  question  of  law  to  the  court.  In  the  course 
of  his  remarks  he  referred  to  a prosecution  of  the  Craftsman , a 


* Henry  Martin.  See  Forster’s  Statesmen  of  the  Commonwealth, 
f State  Trials,  ii,  82. 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


I 6 

paper  opposed  to  the  ministry  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  “in  which 
case,  said  his  lordship,  to  the  great  mortification  of  Sir  Philip 
Yorke,  then  Attorney  General,  the  Craftsman  was  acquitted; ” 
“and  I recollect  it,”  continued  his  lordship,  “from  a famous 
witty  and  ingenious  ballad  that  was  composed  on  the  occasion 
by  Mr.  Pulteney.  Though  it  be  a ballad,”  said  he,  “I  will 
quote  a stanza  from  it  to  show  you  the  opinion  upon  this  sub- 
ject of  the  able  men  in  opposition  and  the  leaders  of  the  pop- 
ular party  in  those  days.  They  had  not  an  idea  that  the  jury 
had  a right  to  determine  upon  a question  of  law,  and  they 
rested  the  verdict  on  another  and  better  ground: 


‘For  Sir  Philip  well  knows 
That  his  innuendoes 
Will  serve  him  no  longer 
In  verse  or  in  prose; 

For  twelve  honest  men  have  decided  the  cause, 

Who  are  judges  of  fact  though  not  judges  of  laws.’” 

It  seems  that  Lord  Mansfield  made  a serious  mistake  in  his 
quotation  from  the  ballad,  and  that  the  close  of  the  stanza  as 
written  by  Mr.  Pulteney  asserts  the  very  opposite  doctrine : 


For  twelve  honest  men  have  determined  the  cause, 

Who  are  judges  alike  of  the  facts  and  the  laws. 

Notwithstanding  former  disputes,  however,  the  matter  is  now 
settled,  and  juries  are  judges  of  law  and  fact.  And  so  a gradual 
transition  has  been  made.  Jurors,  who  at  first  were  witnesses, 
have  now  become  judges,  and  not  judges  merely,  but  legisla- 
tors. Lord  Erskine  said,  “I  do  not  seek  to  erect  jurors  into 
legislators  or  judges;”  but  he  and  others  have  done  both.  The 
answer  of  the  jury  in  Lilburn’s  case  to  the  questions  proposed 
by  the  Council  of  State  show  what  jurors  mean  when  they  pro- 
nounce themselves  “judges  of  law  as  well  as  of  fact.”  James 
Stevens  was  satisfied  that  the  prisoner  was  the  person  men- 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


17 


tioned  in  the  act,  and  did  not  question  the  validity  of  the  act. 
At  this  point  he  had  already  performed  the  functions  of  a judge 
of  the  fact  and  of  a judge  of  the  law;  he  had  even  made  him- 
self a judge  of  the  validity,  or  as  we  should  say,  constitution- 
ality of  the  law.  “But  the  jury  having  weighed  all  which  was 
said,  and  conceiving  themselves  to  be  judges  of  law  as  well  as 
fact,  they  found  him  not  guilty.”  Here  they  took  upon  them- 
selves legislative  powers,  and  abrogated  the  law  whose  validity 
they  did  not  question.  The  court  considers  itself  to  be  a judge 
of  what  the  law  is;  the  jurors  conceive  themselves  to  be  judges 
of  what  the  law  should  be.  A judge  of  a horse  is  one  who 
knows  whether  the  horse  is  good  for  any  thing;  and  why 
should  not  a juror,  a judge  of  the  law,  take  upon  him  to  decide 
whether  the  law  is  good  for  any  thing?  And  juries  take  upon 
themselves  legislative  powers  not  once  in  a while  merely,  but 
almost  everyday.  “There  is  no  doubt  of  his  guilt;  but  no 
jury  will  ever  be  found  to  convict  him,”  is  a common  expres- 
sion. The  meaning  is  that,  however  clear  the  facts  and  how- 
ever positive  the  law,  juries  will  take  a solemn  oath  to  support 
the  law  and  then  deliberately  proceed  to  annul  it.  Sir  Jonah 
Barrington  gives  an  account  of  a duel  between  two  opposing 
candidates  for  office,  during  the  heat  of  an  election  in  Wexford 
County,  Ireland,  in  which  one  of  the  candidates  killed  his 
opponent.  “A  more  wanton  duel,”  says  Sir  Jonah,  “a  more 
unnecessary,  cruel,  and  in  all  respects  illegal  transaction  never 
occurred  in  the  United  Empire.  . . . However,  the  then 

politics  of  Wexford  juries  differed  not  infrequently  both  from 
the  laws  of  God  and  the  statute-book,  and  the  verdict  returned 
in  this  instance  was,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  a general 
acquittal.”*  Wexford  juries  are  not  confined  to  Wexford. 
The  most  singular  circumstance  in  the  affair  is  the  “ surprise 
of  every  one.”  A person  who  could  be  surprised  at  any  verdict 
of  a jury  would  be  lost  in  astonishment  if  he  should  toss  a 
copper  and  see  it  turn  up  either  heads  or  tails. 


* Personal  Sketches,  p.  189. 


i8 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


We  all  know  that  to  be  a judge  of  a fact  often  means  with 
juries  to  decide  whether  the  fact  is  of  the  right  sort.  If  the 
fact  does  not  prove  what  they  wish  it  to  prove,  it  is  a very 
impertinent  sort  of  fact,  having  no  right  to  thrust  itself  into 
places  in  which  it  is  not  wanted.  Some  of  them  seem  to  think 
that  a fact,  being,  like  a mule,  a very  stubborn  thing,  frequently 
needs  cudgeling.  And  in  this  dominion  over  the  facts  pre- 
sented in  evidence  they  have  the  support  of  the  great  advocate 
of  the  rights  of  juries,  Lord  Erskine.  He  is  striving  to  show 
that  juries  are  better  qualified  than  judges  to  decide  upon  the 
seditious  tendency  of  a paper,  and  he  says:  “They  may  know 
themselves , or  it  may  be  proved  before  them,  that  it  has  excited 
sedition  already.  ...  If  they  know  that  the  subject  of  the 
paper  is  the  topic  that  agitates  the  country  around  them  — if 
they  see  danger  in  the  agitation,  and  have  reason  to  think  that 
the  publisher  intended  it  — they  say  that  he  is  guilty.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  they  consider  the  paper  to  be  legal  and  enlight- 
ened in  principle,  likely  to  promote  a spirit  of  activity  and  lib- 
erty in  times  when  the  activity  of  such  a spirit  is  essential  to 
the  public  safety,  and  have  reason  to  believe  it  to  be  written 
and  published  in  that  spirit,  they  say,  as  they  ought  to  do,  that 
the  writer  or  the  publisher  is  not  guilty.  Whereas  your  lord- 
ship’s judgment  upon  the  language  of  the  record  must  ever  be 
in  the  pure  abstract;  operating  blindly  and  indiscriminately 
upon  all  times,  circumstances,  and  intentions;  making  no  dis- 
tinctions between  the  glorious  attempts  of  a Sidney  or  a Russell 
struggling  against  the  terrors  of  a despotism  under  the  Stuarts 
and  those  desperate  adventurers  of  the  year  ’45,  who  libeled 
the  person  and  excited  rebellion  against  the  mild  and  gracious 
government  of  our  late  excellent  sovereign,  King  George  the 
Second.” 

Though  in  early  times  juries  were  expected  to  base  their  de- 
cisions upon  their  own  knowledge,  yet  the  theory  now  is  that  they 
are  to  regard  nothing  but  the  evidence  presented  in  open  court, 
which  the  judge  hears  as  well  as  the  jury.  But  Lord  Erskine 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


x9 


bases  their  superiority  upon  the  assumption  that  they  know 
something  which  has  not  been  given  in  evidence  at  all.  And 
according  to  his  doctrine,  all  the  distinction  between  what  is  a 
libel  and  what  is  not  a libel — all  that  constitutes  the  criminality 
of  the  act — may  be  fixed  by  something  not  before  the  court, 
something  that  perhaps  is  in  direct  opposition  to  the  facts  pre- 
sented, something  that  the  accused  has  no  means  of  meeting — 
the  loose  opinions  of  the  jurors,  which  Lord  Erskine  would 
dignify  with  the  name  of  knowledge.  Did  the  great  advocate 
of  juries  mean  to  assert  that,  though  judges  can  not  make  a 
distinction  between  “ the  glorious  attempts  of  a Sidney  or  a 
Russell”  and  “ those  desperate  adventurers  of  the  year  ’45,” 
yet  juries  can?  They  showed  their  ability  to  make  the  dis- 
tinction by  sending  Sidney  and  Russell  to  the  scaffold. 

A stranger  to  our  customs  who  should  be  informed  that  we 
invest  a body  of  men  with  despotic  power  over  law  and  fact 
would  naturally  infer  that  such  a body  of  men  is  exceedingly 
select,  that  it  is  composed  of  persons  who  understand  thoroughly 
all  the  principles  of  law  and  evidence.  He  would  probably  be 
surprised  to  learn  that  they  generally  know  nothing  about  law 
and  very  often  undergo  examinations  to  show  that  they  know 
nothing  about  fact.  The  theory  about  the  impartiality  of  juries 
is  a very  fine  one.  A juror  ought  to  be  free  from  prejudice.  It 
would  be  an  excellent  thing  if  we  could  find  men  of  powerful 
minds  in  full  activity  and  capable  of  deciding  any  point,  who 
have  never  formed  an  opinion  upon  any  subject  under  heaven; 
who  are  neither  atheists  nor  theists,  Roman  Catholics  nor  Pro- 
testants, monarchists  nor  republicans,  nominalists  nor  realists, 
Littleendians  nor  Bigendians;  who  have  no  theory  about  the 
caseous  constitution  of  the  moon  or  the  longitude  of  the  north 
pole;  and  who  consequently  would  be  free  from  any  tendency 
in  any  direction  whatever.  Every  opinion  in  the  mind  has  an 
influence  in  the  formation  of  the  next  opinion,  no  matter  upon 
what  subject.  One’s  opinion  about  the  height  of  the  Hima- 
laya Mountains  .will  have  an  influence  in  forming  his  opinion 


20 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


of  hasty -pudding.  And  most  certainly  a man’s  opinions  on 
history,  religion,  politics,  or  morals  will  have  an  influence  in 
forming  his  opinion  of  the  justice  of  a claim  or  the  criminality 
of  an  act. 

It  would  then  be  a thing  desirable  in  itself  to  have  jurors 
free  from  all  opinions  in  regard  either  to  general  principles  or 
to  particular  facts.  Perhaps  it  might  not  be  impossible  to  find 
persons  with  almost  the  proper  destitution  of  ideas;  but  such 
persons  are  endowed  also  with  a “plentiful  lack  of  wit”  and  a 
want  of  capacity  for  forming  opinions  on  any  subject.  What 
course  then  is  dictated  by  common  sense  and  the  practice  of 
mankind?  To  what  kind  of  man  do  we  go  for  advice?  Whom 
do  we  select  as  umpire  or  arbitrator?  Is  it  the  man  who  pays 
so  little  attention  to  what  is  going  on  around  him  or  whose 
mind  is  so  sluggish  that  he  forms  no  opinion  upon  passing 
events?  No;  it  is  the  man  of  intelligence,  the  man  of  active 
mind,  who  has  eyes  to  see  the  things  around  him  and  intellect 
to  form  an  opinion  about  them.  We  may  have  learned  that  he 
has  expressed  an  opinion  against  our  cause;  but  we  take  him 
nevertheless.  We  feel  assured  that  he  has  formed  his  opinion 
from  what  were  presented  to  him  as  facts,  and  that  when  oppo- 
sing facts  are  presented  he  will  change  his  opinion  in  proportion 
to  their  importance;  that,  if  he  is  selected  as  umpire,  he  will 
feel  himself  under  obligation  to  investigate  the  circumstances 
with  the  greater  care;  and  that  the  only  fear  is  that  the  fact  of 
his  having  previously  formed  an  opinion  may  from  excessive 
caution  rather  make  him  lean  in  the  opposite  direction. 

A different  principle,  however,  prevails  in  the  selection  of 
jurors.  Suppose  a case  like  that  of  Col.  Burr,  or  any  other 
case  to  which  the  attention  of  all  who  attend  to  any  thing  is 
attracted.  In  such  a case  every  man  of  intelligence  will  have 
formed  some  opinion.  This  opinion  will,  of  course,  be  in 
accordance  with  the  alleged  facts  which  have  presented  them- 
selves to  him.  But  he  earnestly  desires  to  arrive  at  the  truth, 
and  is  ready  to  change  his  opinion  when  the  matter  is  presented 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


21 


in  a new  light  by  proper  testimony.  A man  may  learn  that  A 
has  set  fire  to  B’s  house  and  may  express  his  opinion  about  it; 
but  this  will  not  prevent  him  from  giving  proper  weight  to  the 
testimony  of  one  who  avers  that  A set  fire  to  the  house  acci- 
dentally while  he  was  trying  to  warm  B’s  freezing  children. 

But  when  a man’s  fitness  for  serving  on  a jury  is  canvassed 
he  is  asked,  “ Have  you  formed  and  expressed  an  opinion  in 
regard  to  this  case?”  Some  learned  advocates  put  the  question 
in  the  disjunctive  form,  “Have  you  formed  or  expressed  an 
opinion?”  Any  one  who  admits  that  he  can  express  an  opin- 
ion without  having  formed  it  ought  to  be  excused.  It  is  about 
as  wise  to  put  the  question  in  this  form  as  to  say  to  a hen, 
“Have  you  formed' or  laid  an  egg?”  or  to  a school-boy,  “Have 
you  learned  or  even  recited  your  multiplication-table?”*  The 
answer  to  the  question  sets  aside  every  man  of  intelligence  and 
honesty  in  the  community,  and  the  jury  must  be  composed  of 
fools,  rogues,  or  hermits.  The  villain  who  has  received  his 
bribe  is,  of  course,  always  on  hand,  ready  to  swear  that  he  has 
never  even  heard  of  the  case.  There  may  be  honest  people  on 
the  jury,  too — people  as  honest  as  a stump,  which  never  tells  a 
falsehood  or  steals  a purse  or  gets  drunk.  But  what  qualifica- 
tion have  they  for  deciding  an  intricate  point?  While  every 
one  around  them  has  felt  a deep  interest  in  an  important  mat- 
ter, the  only  matter  in  which  they  have  felt  any  concern  are 
how  the  hog  got  into  the  corn-field  or  when  Brindle  broke  her 
horn.  They  have  undergone  an  examination  the  object  of 
which  was  to  discover  not  how  much  they  "know,  but  how  much 
they  do  n’t  know,  and  how  incapable  they  are  of  forming  an 
opinion  upon  events  passing  around  them.  Upon  that  jury  is 
your  old  acquaintance,  Peter  Muggins,  before  whom  once  in 
an  unguarded  moment  you  happened  to  say  that  the  earth  is 
round.  “ Round ! ” exclaimed  Mr.  Muggins  indignantly,  “ it ’s 


*A  good  part  of  the  first  form  of  the  question  is  mere  verbiage;  for  when  a 
man  has  expressed  an  opinion  it  is  no  very  violent  presumption  to  suppose  that 
he  has  formed  it. 


22 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


square,  sir!  Doesn't  the  Bible  say  ‘the  four  corners  of  the 
earth'?  How  can  there  be  four  corners  if  it  isn’t  square?" 
By  his  side  is  Jacob  Hoggins,  who  on  the  same  occasion  main- 
tained that  you  were  both  wrong,  and  who,  on  being  asked 
what  he  considered  the  shape  of  the  earth,  replied,  “What 
shape?  Why  no  shape  at  all;  for  the  Bible  says,  ‘The  earth 
was  without  form  and  void.' " There,  too,  is  Giles  Scroggins, 
who  was  rather  inclined  to  believe  that  the  earth  is  round; 
“For,"  said  he,  “if  the  earth  is  not  round,  why  do  we  say, 
‘world  without  end,  amen'?"  There  is  Patrick  O' Flaherty, 
who  knocked  down  his  neighbor  for  saying  that  Daniel  O'Con- 
nell was  not  the  son  of  Saint  Patrick.  There  is  Peter  Smith, 
who  is  suspected  of  having  too  great  an  affection  for  his  neigh- 
bor's mutton,  and  whose  wits  now  seem  to  be  wool-gathering. 
Next  to  him  is  Hans  Dinkenspiel,  who  drank  a hundred  glasses 
of  lager-beer  in  one  evening,  and  had  as  much  sense  at  the 
close  of  the  performance  as  he  had  at  the  beginning.  And 
there  is  Mr.  Thomas  Tight,  who  has  heard  nothing  of  the  mat- 
ter because  he  has  been  “on  a spree"  for  several  weeks;  and 
now,  to  save  time,  he  is  evidently  about  to  sleep  it  off  while  the 
witnesses  are  giving  in  their  testimony.  With  the  other  indi- 
viduals that  enter  into  the  composition  of  this  “palladium  of 
our  liberties  " you  are  unacquainted.  When  they  were  accepted 
you  saw  a gleam  of  satisfaction  on  the  faces  of  the  lawyers  on 
one  side,  and  you  consequently  take  it  for  granted  that  the 
jurors  are  well  qualified.  You  know  that  it  has  been  difficult 
to  procure  the  requisite  number  of  jurors,  and  you  may  say  to 
the  judge, 

“The  lovely  jury  sits  beside  thee — 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee.” 

We  often  hear  of  “the  majesty  of  the  law" — behold  it  incar- 
nated in  that  jury! — a lion  in  an  ass's  skin — Themis  disguising 
herself  as  old  Granny  Gray!  If  ignorance  is  so  necessary  a 
qualification,  would  not  a school  of  ignorance  be  useful  for 
making  “judges  of  law  as  well  as  of  fact"?  The  old  lady  who 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


23 


when  told  that  the  Savior  had  died  for  her  exclaimed,  “ What ! 
is  he  dead?  I hadn’t  hearn  of  it,”  was  well  qualified  for  a 
juror.  So  was  the  lady  who,  after  admiring  Dubufe’s  painting 
of  Adam  and  Eve,  turned  to  her  neighbor  and  said,  “Mrs. 
Jones,  who.  were  Adam  and  Eve?”  They  would  have  had 
worthy  associates  in  the  American  who  was  looking  for  the 
house  of  Washington  in  Mount  Vernon  Street,  Boston;  and  in 
that  American  traveler  who  wrote  home  from  Genoa  that  he 
had  visited  the  house  of  Columbus,  and 'was  sorry  that  he  did 
not  find  Columbus  at  home,  as  he  wished  to  thank  him  for 
discovering  America.  David  Copperfield’s  indignant  landlady 
uttered  a great  truth  when  she  declared  she  would  appeal  to  a 
“British  Judy,”  “meaning,  it  was  supposed,”  says  Dickens, 
“the  bulwark  of  our  national  liberties.” 

I beg  leave  to  present  here  the  true  view  of  one  of  Shakes- 
peare’s  characters.  It  is  generally  believed  that  Dogberry  very 
much  abused  the  English  language.  I wish  to  show  that  he  is 
unusually  accurate.  In  the  first  place,  Dogberry  was  conver- 
sant with  courts  of  law.  This  might  easily  be  inferred  from 
his  calling  himself  “ a fellow  that  hath  had  losses.”  But  he 
asserts  the  same  thing  directly  when  he  says  that  he  is  “one 
that  knows  the  law,  go  to.”  Like  Peter  Peebles,  “he  knows 
the  forms  of  process.”  When  he  is  selecting  the  constable  of 
the  watch  he  is  thinking  of  the  selection  of  jurors,  and  we  may 
accordingly  substitute  juror  for  constable.  George  Seacoal  is 
accepted,  and  Dogberry  says  to  him,  “You  are  thought  here 
to  be  the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for  juror.”  Dogberry’s 
charge  reads  like  that  of  a judge,  and  if  he  had  searched  the 
dictionary  from  beginning  to  end,  he  could  not  have  found 
more  appropriate  words.  And  how  feelingly  does  he  describe 
the  want  of  the  proper  qualifications  in  Goodman  Verges:  “An 
old  man,  sir;  and  his  wits  are  not  so  blunt  as,  God  help,  I 
would  desire  they  were.”  He  shows  himself  familiar  with  the 
operation  of  the  trial  by  jury  when  he  says,  “ Masters,  it  is 
proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than  false  knaves,  and 


24 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  shortly.”  Every  one  knows 
that  when  it  is  proved  before  a jury  that  a man  is  a false  knave 
it  by  no  means  necessarily  follows  that  he  should  be  thought 
so  by  the  jury.  Now  making  allowance  for  a few  expressions 
which  Dogberry  may  have  caught  unwittingly  from  jurors,  his 
language  is  a model  of  accuracy;  every  thing  is  in  a “ concat- 
enation accordingly,”  as  Tony  Lumpkin’s  friend  says. 

A celebrated  Kentucky  lawyer  used  to  say,  “ There  is  one 
limit  to  the  foreknowledge  of  God — he  can  not  tell  what  will 
be  the  decision  of  a petty  jury.”  And  now  can  you  look  at 
some  of  our  juries  without  hoping  that  he  may  be  forgiven  for 
the  expression?  The  juror  maybe  called  on  to  examine  the 
most  complicated  relations,  to  make  the  nicest  distinctions, 
which  he  is  utterly  unable  to  do.  He  is  obliged  to  pitch  on 
something  to  which  he  is  led  by  accident  or  prejudice.  He  is 
thrown  into  a bottomless  and  shoreless  sea,  and  in  his  drowning 
struggles  seizes  any  dispensation  of  straw,  and  clings  to  it  as  if 
it  were  a life-boat. 

Lord  Eldon’s  experience  did  not  give  him  a very  high  opin- 
ion of  our  palladium,  and  he  used  to  relate  some  illustrative 
anecdotes.  “I  remember,”  said  he,  “Mr.  Justice  Gould  trying 
a cause  at  York;  and  when  he  had  proceeded  for  about  two 
hours  he  observed,  ‘ Here  are  only  eleven  jurymen;  where  is 
the  twelfth?’  ‘ Please  you,  my  lord,’  said  one  of  the  eleven, 

4 he  is  gone  away  about  some  business,  but  he  has  left  his  ver- 
dict with  me.’  ” Once,  when  he  was  only  “ Lawyer  Scott,”  he 
was  leaving  Newcastle  after  having  been  very  successful.  A 
farmer  rode  up  to  him  and  said,  “Well,  Lawyer  Scott,  I was 
glad  that  you  carried  the  day  so  often;  and  if  I had  had  my 
way,  you  should  never  once  have  been  beaten.  I was  foreman 
of  the  jury,  and  you  were  sure  of  my  vote;  for  you  are  my 
countryman,  and  we  are  proud  of  you.”* 

Here  is  an  American  illustration  of  the  principles  that  often 
govern  the  “judges  of  law  as  well  as  of  fact.”  The  case  was 


* Campbell’s  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors,  vii,  80. 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


25 


as  clear  as  daylight,  the  defendant  not  having  the  shadow  of  an 
excuse  for  refusing  to  pay  the  debt.  After  the  delivery  of  the 
evidence,  which  was  all  on  one  side,  the  judge  asked  the  coun- 
sel whether  they  wished  to  make  any  argument,  saying  that  he 
thought  it  hardly  necessary  in  so  plain  a case.  The  case  was 
submitted  without  argument.  The  jury  retired,  and  returned 
in  a few  moments  with  a verdict  for  the  defendant.  The 
counsel  for  the  plaintiff  was  curious  to  know  the  reason  for  the 
verdict  “Why,  you  see,”  said  the  foreman,  “we  didn’t  think 
much  of  the  lawyer  agin  you,  and  it  was  n’t  strange  he  did  n’t 
have  nothing  to  say;  but,  ’squire,  the  fact  is  we  thought  you 
was  about  one  of  the  smartest  lawyers  in  this  country,  and 
if  you  could  n’t  find  any  thing  to  say  on  your  side,  it  must  be 
a purty  hard  case,  and  so  we  had  to  go  agin  you.”  These  are 
only  specimen  bricks;  but  they  are  from  a building  homogene- 
ous in  structure. 

How  the  principle  of  demanding  unanimity  was  introduced 
into  the  jury -system  is  not  certainly  known.  Most  probably 
petty  juries  originally  consisted  of  more  than  twelve,  and  the 
agreement  of  twelve  was  required  in  the  decision,  as  is  still  the 
case  with  grand  juries.  The  officers  having  sometimes  found 
it  difficult  to  procure  the  proper  number,  some  philosopher  rea- 
soned about  the  matter  thus:  “As  twelve  jurors  make  the  ver- 
dict, the  others  are  superfluous.”  All  that  is  necessary  is  for 
the  twelve  to  see  alike;  and  it  is  their  duty  to  see  alike,  for  the 
truth  is  always  one.  If  the  arguments  before  the  court  should 
not  be  sufficient,  darkness,  cold,  and  hunger  will  supply  every 
deficiency  and  bring  them  all  to  reason.  It  is  rather  wonderful 
that  some  philosopher  did  not  think  of  employing  the  peine 
forte  et  dure , which  had  so  beneficial  an  effect  on  obstinate 
fellows  who  refused  to  plead  either  “guilty”  or  “not  guilty.” 
If  a troublesome  juror  were  laid  on  his  back,  with  a weight  on 
his  breast  as  great  as  he  could  bear,  and  furnished  with  only  a 
sup  or  two  of  water  daily  from  the  nearest  puddle,  he  would 
find  his  judgment  very  much  enlightened. 

3 


26 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


Blit,  however  this  principle  was  introduced,  it  has  proved 
itself  one  of  the  most  efficient  aids  in  effecting  “ how  not  to  do 
it.”  When  any  legal  point  is  submitted  to  a number  of  judges , 
who  understand  the  matter,  it  is  decided  by  a majority;  but  if  a 
point  is  submitted  to  a jury , who  understand  very  little  about  it, 
the  whole  twelve  are  required  to  agree.  The  principle  is  so 
absurd  that  if  any  one  should  propose  it  now  for  the  first  time, 
he  would  be  regarded  by  sober  people  as  having  just  escaped 
from  the  lunatic  asylum;  and  any  one  who  should  seriously 
attempt  to  refute  him  would  be  considered  worthy  to  be  sent 
back  with  him.*  Among  us,  if  by  any  freak  of  chance  — and 
chance  may  bring  about  some  very  strange  things — eleven  wise 
men  should  be  got  upon  one  jury,  one  fool  may  defeat  the 
whole  of  them!  To  make  a man  swear  to  give  a conscientious 
decision  and  then  order  him  to  agree  with  eleven  others  is 
almost  to  force  him  to  commit  perjury.  This  principle,  if  prin- 
ciple it  must  be  called,  has  given  rise  to  “ tossing  coppers,” 
“splitting  the  difference,”  “adding  up  and  dividing  by  twelve,” 
and  the  various  other  measures  to  which  the  Palladium  resorts 
for  the  preservation  of  our  liberties.  Often  the  verdict  comes 
into  court  pretending  to  be  unanimous  when  it  does  not  express 
the  opinion  of  a single  juror.  For  instance,  one  half  of  the 
jury  may  be  in  favor  of  giving  damages  to  the  amount  of  one 
thousand  dollars,  and  the  other  half  as  strongly  in  favor  of  two 
thousand.  They  agree  to  “split  the  difference,”  and  give  a 
verdict  for  fifteen  hundred.  Here  is  a verdict  that  pretends  to 
express  the  opinion  of  every  juror,  whereas  it  does  not  express 
the  opinion  of  one  of  them. 

To  a jury  in  one  of  our  Western  cities  the  following  case 
was  submitted : A man  had  agreed  with  the  owner  to  take  a 
boat-load  of  flour  to  New  Orleans.  At  Memphis  he  got  into 
a drinking-frolic,  and  remained  there  two  weeks.  In  the  mean 

* Trial  by  jury  was  adopted  in  France  near  the  close  of  the  last  century;  but 
unanimity  was  found  to  be  impossible,  and  a majority  of  eight  in  fifteen  is  all  that 
is  required. 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


27 


time  the  price  of  flour  had  fallen.  The  owner  of  the  flour 
brought  an  action  for  damages.  The  matter  was  of  the  sim- 
plest nature.  The  jury  had  nothing  to  do  but  find  the  difference 
between  two  sums — that  which  the  flour  actually  produced  and 
that  which  it  would  have  produced  if  it  had  been  delivered  in 
time.  This  difference  was  $700.  The  jury  brought  in  a ver- 
dict for  $166.66^3.  The  attorney  for  the  plaintiff  expressed 
his  indignation  in  the  strongest  terms.  The  foreman  came  up 

and  apologized.  “Mr.  M ,”  said  he,  “you  must  not  blame 

me;  I was  for  $800.”  “It  was  not  my  fault/’  said  another; 
“I  was  for  $700.”  One  after  another  made  his  explanation; 
and  it  was  found  that  three  were  in  favor  of  $800,  eight  for 
$700,  and  one  for  $500.  “How  then/’  said  the  attorney, 
“could  you  render  a verdict  for  $166.66^3,  when  not  one  of 
you  was  for  less  than  $500,  and  only  one  for  that  sum?” 
“Why,  we  added  up  and  divided  by  twelve — that  is  the  way 
juries  do.”  “ But  how  could  it  possibly  be  less  than  $500, 
when  that  was  the  lowest  sum?”  “I  don’t  know,”  said  the 
foreman;  “but  that  was  the  way  it  came  out.”  He  had  abso- 
lute faith  in  mathematics — the  scientific  man. 

But  some  juries,  having  a suspicion  that  figures  may  lie,  and 
wishing  to  relieve  the  law  from  the  reproach  of  uncertainty, 
take  another  method,  in  which  there  is  absolute  certainty;  they 
toss  up  a copper,  which  is  always  certain  to  turn  up  one  thing 
or  the  other.  In  this  case  the  verdict  will  express  the  opinion 
of  somebody.  And  then  those  who  can  do  as  Dick  Swiveller’s 
Marchioness  did  about  the  orange  and  water,  “make  believe 
very  much,”  may  consider  this  a decision  of  Heaven,  as  it  is 
somewhat  in  the  nature  of  the  trial  by  ordeal. 

Some  time  ago  I saw  a minister  of  the  gospel  placed  under 
mesmeric  influence.  “ Did  you  ever  hear  of  a person  named 
Abraham?”  asked  the  operator.  After  some  effort  to  recollect, 
“No,”  said  the  minister,  “I  never  heard  the  name  before.” 
“Do  you  know  any  thing  of  a book  called  the  Bible?”  “No, 
I have  never  heard  of  any  such  book.”  No  important  applica- 


28 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


tion  has  ever  been  made  of  mesmerism;  but  is  not  a great 
opportunity  presented  in  the  trial  by  jury?  It  would  be  an 
excellent  plan  to  appoint  a mesmerizer  for  every  court,  who 
could  facilitate  proceedings  by  throwing  all  the  jurors  at  once 
into  a state  of  absolute  ignorance,  and  thus  qualify  them  for 
the  proper  performance  of  their  duties  as  guardians  of  the  laws 
and  conservators  of  our  liberties.  It  is  difficult  to  find  one  so 
well  qualified  for  the  office  of  juror  that  he  will  not  retain  some 
vestige  of  intelligence,  some  disposition  to  observe  what  is 
going  on  around  him,  and  some  tendency  to  form  and  express 
(or  to  form  or  express)  opinions.  The  mesmeric  plan  will 
remove  every  difficulty,  and  make  jurors  as  useful  as  if  they 
had  never  had  minds  at  all — not  even  enough  to  constitute 
them  respectable  members  of  the  community  of  oysters.  But 
the  great  advantage  of  the  mesmeric  plan  will  appear  in  the 
production  of  entire  unanimity.  Nothing  will  be  required  but 
the  will  of  the  mesmerizer  to  make  them  agree  in  the  smallest 
point,  just  as  if  all  had  been  cast  in  the  same  mold.  There  will 
then  be  no  necessity  for  adding  and  dividing  or  for  tossing  up 
coppers.  Let  some  statesman  succeed  in  getting  this  principle 
adopted,  and  he  will  be  regarded  by  a grateful  country  as  the 
man  who  placed  a head  upon  our  Palladium. 

If  the  principle  of  the  jury-system  is  well  founded,  why  may 
it  not  be  applied  to  other  matters  as  well  as  to  the  law  ? Let  us 
suppose  a medical  case,  which  would  probably  be  managed  in 
a way  somewhat  like  the  following : A man,  suspected  of  being 
sick,  is  visited  by  a physician,  who  summons  a jury  of  the 
neighborhood  to  decide  upon  the  disease  and  the  medicine. 
A sufficient  number  of  those  who  are  summoned  are  found  to 
possess  the  requisite  negative  qualifications.  One  has  never 
formed  or  expressed  an  opinion  about  any  thing.  Another  has 
never  heard  that  this  man  or  any  one  else  is  sick.  A third  has 
heard  of  persons  being  sick,  but  has  been  inclined  to  consider 
it  a joke  — has,  however,  never  formed  any  opinion  about  it, 
nor  even  expressed  one.  And  so  on  with  the  rest.  Attorney 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


29 


for  the  commonwealth  declares  to  the  jury  that  he  will  prove 
by  the  most  irrefragable  testimony  that  the  man  is  sick  of 
chronic  inflammation  of  the  pericardium;  that  John  Jones  saw 
him  “ moping  about; ” th&t  Peter  Wilkins  will  swear  that  he 
saw  the  accused  decline  blood-pudding;  that  Jonas  Smithers 
saw  something  green  about  his  eye,  etc.  Counsel  for  the 
accused  congratulates  his  client  on  having  his  case  brought 
before  so  intelligent,  high-minded,  and  impartial  a jury  as  he, 
the  said  counsel,  sees  in  the  box  before  him.  Witnesses  disa- 
gree very  much  about  the  name  and  the  nature  of  the  disease. 
Physician  gives  his  charge  to  the  jury,  telling  them  it  is  their 
duty  to  decide  upon  the  testimony  of  the  witnesses  whether  the 
accused  is  sick  of  chronic  inflammation  of  the  pericardium,  or 
whether  he  is  sick  of  any  other  disease;  and  if  he  is  sick,  what 
remedies  must  be  employed.  Jury  retires.  Mr.  Baggs  elected 
foreman.  Mr.  Beggs  immediately  expresses  his  opinion  that 
the  accused  is  evidently  sick  of  chronic  inflammation  of  the 
pericardium.  Mr.  Biggs  interrupts  him — “ How  can  you  say 
so  when  the  evidence  was  so  clear  that  he  is  sick  of  tuberculous 
diapason  of  the  ephemerides ! ” One  of  the  lawyers  had  men- 
tioned this  disease  to  ridicule  the  attorney  for  the  common- 
wealth. Mr.  Boggs  cries  out,  “ I am  convinced  that  he  is  not 
sick  at  all ; and  you  can’t  convince  me  of  any  thing  else  between 
this  and  doomsday.”  Mr.  Buggs  becomes  indignant  and  ex- 
claims, “You  may  keep  me  here  till  judgment-day;  but  I will 
maintain  till  the  last  moment  that  the  sick  man  is  sick.  You 
may  starve  me  to  death,  but  you  can’t  starve  that  out  of  me ! ” 
Mr.  Buggs’s  energy  and  determination  bring  to  his  opinion 
Mr.  Huggs  and  Mr.  Juggs,  who  feel  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  hold 
any  opinion  against  such  a man  as  that.  Great  hubbub  and 
indignation.  After  the  storm  has  spent  its  fury  a proposition 
is  made  to  decide  by  tossing  up  a copper.  It  is  decided  that 
he  is  sick,  and  that  his  disease  is  tuberculous  diapason  of  the 
ephemerides. 


■i 


30 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


“Well,  gentlemen,”  says  the  foreman,  “we  are  all  agreed 
that  the  accused  is  sick  of  tuberculous  diapason  of  the  ephem- 
erides — now  about  the  medicine.” 

“For  my  part,”  says  Mr.  Beggs,  “I  am  for  giving  him  a 
pound  of  calomel  and  a quart  of  castor-oil.” 

“And  I think,”  says  Mr.  Biggs,  “ that  two  pounds  of  chloride 
of  sodium  is  the  medicine  for  him.” 

“And  I,”  exclaims  Mr.  Boggs,  “will  never  consent  to  give 
him  rank  poison  like  chloride  of  sodium.  I will  consent  to  a pint 
or  so  of  prussic  acid,  but  never  to  chloride  of  sodium — no,  sir ! ” 
“ Gentlemen,”  says  Mr.  Buggs,  “ so  strong  a disease  requires 
strong  medicine,  and  I am  determined  he  shall  have  nothing 
but  aqua  fontis.” 

Here  the  foreman  interposes:  “Gentlemen,  we  ’ll  never  get 
out  of  this  place  unless  we  get  on  faster.  The  only  way  I can  see 
is  to  throw  heads  or  tails  again.  Do  you  all  consent?  Well  then, 
I will  throw  first  for  calomel  and  castor-oil.  Heads  wins.  Heads 
it  is.  He  has  to  take  the  pound  of  calomel  and  the  quart  of 
castor-oil.  Now  for — what  do  you  call  your  remedy,  Mr.  Biggs?” 
“Chloride  of  sodium;  and  a great  medicine  it  is.” 

“Well,  now  for  chloride  of  sodium,”  continues  the  foreman. 
“Tails.  He  is  not  to  take  the  chloride  of  sodium.  What  was 
yours,  Mr.  Boggs?” 

“ Prussic  acid,  sir.” 

“Well,  now  I will  throw  for  prussic  acid.  Heads  it  is.  He 
has  to  take  the  prussic  acid.  The  other,  I believe,  is — what  did 
you  call  your  strong  medicine,  Mr.  Buggs?” 

“Aqua  fontis,  sir.” 

“Tails  it  is,”  cries  the  foreman.  “The  aqua  fontis  is  to  be 
left  out.  Now  let  us  see — he  has  to  take  a pound  of  calomel, 
a quart  of  castor-oil,  and  a pint  of  prussic  acid.  Is  it  to  be 
taken  hot  or  cold?” 

“Boiling  hot,”  says  one.  “Cold,”  exclaims  another.  After 
various  expressions  of  opinion  one  proposes  that  they  now 
“add  up  and  divide.”  Which  being  agreed  to,  the  result  of 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


31 


the  operation  is  lukewarm.  The  unanimous  verdict  of  the  jury 
is  then  presented. 

The  question  is  asked,  “What  mode  of  trial  can  be  substi- 
tuted for  trial  by  jury?'’  , The  answer  is  evident.  When  we 
have  a medical  case  we  resort  to  the  physician,  who  has  studied 
the  subject  and  prepared  himself  to  be  a judge;  so  when  we 
have  a legal  case  nothing  seems  more  natural  than  that  we 
should  resort  to  one  who  has  studied  the  subject  and  is  quali- 
fied to  judge,  and  who  has  by  practice  acquired  an  ability  to 
sift  facts.  There  is  scarcely  any  one  who,  if  he  believes  his 
cause  to  be  just,  will  not  say  that  he  would  rather  submit  his 
case  to  the  judge  of  his  district  than  to  any  jury.  Ask  the 
lawyers,  and,  however  glad  they  are  to  have  a jury  when  they 
see  the  weakness  of  the  particular  cause  in  which  they  may  be 
engaged,  they  will  tell  you  that  the  jury-system  is  one  of  the 
greatest  obstacles  in  the  way  of  justice.  “The  Palladium  of 
our  liberties”  they  pronounce  a “humbug.”  When  Dennis 
O’ Blarney,  having  committed  an  offense  against  the  law,  was 
summoned  into  court  with  the  assurance  that  he  should  have 
justice,  “Faith,”  exclaimed  Dennis,  “that’s  jist  what  I ’m  after 
being  afraid  of.”  Dennis’s  counsel  would  have  been  pleased 
with  the  idea  of  a jury,  for  he  would  have  seen  something  to 
encourage  hope  in  the  face  of  Granny  Gray,  while  the  coun- 
tenance of  Themis  would  have  bid  him  despair. 

One  of  the  chief  arguments  in  favor  of  trial  by  jury  is  that 
it  serves  as  a protection  against  the  oppressions  of  government. 
Sir  James  Mackintosh  refers  in  illustration  to  the  case  of  John 
Lilburn,  of  which  I have  given  an  account.  The  acquittal  of 
the  seven  bishops,  which  caused  all  England  to  break  out  in 
shouts  and  tears  of  joy,  furnishes  another  illustration.  But  has 
trial  by  jury  defended  the  people  against  the  oppressions  of 
government  in  England?  “In  legal  murders  of  the  great  and 
good,”  says  Archdeacon  Hare,  “notwithstanding  the  boasted 
excellence  of  our  laws  and  courts  of  justice,  the  history  of 
England  is  richer  than  that  of  any  other  country.”  “ The  truth 


32 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


is,”  says  Sir  Archibald  Alison,  “ juries  are  and  have  been  in 
every  age  the  judicial  committee  of  the  majority,  and  neither 
more  nor  less.  As  such  they  have  frequently  rescued  persons 
prosecuted  for  offenses  interesting  to  the  majority  from  the 
hands  of  oppression;  but  they  have  in  many  more  cases,  when 
the  majority  itself  was  in  power,  committed  the  most  atrocious 
judicial  iniquities.  In  one  year  juries  perpetrated  the  long 
catalogue  of  judicial  murders  consequent  on  the  Popish  Plot; 
in  another  they  were  the  instruments  of  the  equally  unjust 
and  sanguinary  vengeance  of  the  Rye  House.  The  whole 
state  trials  of  England  — the  most  appalling  collection,  as 
Hallam  has  observed,  of  judicial  iniquities  which  the  history 
of  the  world  can  exhibit  — were  conducted  by  means  of 
juries.”  * 

In  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.  a man  in  London  kept  an  inn 
called  the  Crown.  In  a merry  mood  one  day  he  said  to  his 
little  son,  “Tom,  if  thou  behavest  thyself  well,  I will  make 
thee  heir  to  the  Crown.”  For  this  he  was  hanged,  drawn,  and 
quartered.  He  had  the  benefit  of  trial  by  jury. 

Edward  IV.  wantonly  entered  the  park  of  Sir  Thomas  Bur- 
det  during  the  absence  of  the  owner  and  killed  a white  buck 
of  which  Sir  Thomas  was  particularly  fond.  When  the  knight 
heard  of  this  he  exclaimed,  “ I wish  the  buck,  horns  and  all, 
were  in  the  king’s  belly.”  He  had  the  benefit  of  trial  by  jury, 
and  was  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered. 

Lord  Erskine  was  particularly  unfortunate  when  he  implied 
the  ability  of  jurors  to  estimate  properly  “ the  glorious  attempts 
of  a Sidney  or  a Russell.”  Lord  Russell  in  his  last  speech 
affectingly  said,  “ But  I wish  the  rage  of  hot  men  and  the  par- 
tialities of  juries  may  be  stopped  with  my  blood.”  “We  know,” 
said  Titus  Oates  in  the  midst  of  his  murders,  “how  juries  have 
gone  a-late.” 

The  three  hundred  and  twenty  condemned  to  death  and  the 
eight  hundred  and  forty -one  condemned  to  transportation  at 


* History  of  Europe,  vol.  v,  99. 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


33 


Jeffrey’s  Bloody  Assizes  had  each  of  them,  from  Alice  Lisle  to 
the  last  victim,  the  benefit  of  trial  by  jury. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  bloody  judge  forced  the  juries  to 
decide  as  they  did;  but  the  fact  remains  that  trial  by  jury  did 
not  protect  the  victims.  And  it  is  doubtful  whether  Jeffreys 
would  have  attempted  to,  swim  in  such  a sea  of  blood  if  he 
had  not  been  held  up  by  juries.  Men  will  do  things  in  con- 
nection with  others  which  they  would  not  venture  to  do  if 
unsupported. 

History  would  show  that  the  majesty  of  the  law  has  been 
more  frequently  maintained  against  tyranny  by  judges  than  by 
juries.  The  same  reign  that  saw  the  inn-keeper  condemned  by 
a jury  to  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered  for  a pun,  saw 
Chief  Justice  Markham  forfeit  his  office  because  he  would  not 
prostitute  it  to  the  purposes  of  the  king  and  his  ministers,  who 
wished  to  make  it  an  instrument  for  wreaking  their  vengeance 
on  a political  opponent. 

When  Lord  Mansfield’s  house,  with  all  his  books  and  papers, 
had  been  burned  by  Lord  George  Gordon’s  mob,  the  leader 
of  the  mob  was  tried  before  the  man  who  had  been  so  much 
injured  by  it.  “It  was,”  said  Lord  Campbell,  “a  high  compli- 
ment to  the  known  impartiality  of  English  judges  that  neither 
the  prisoner  himself  nor  his  counsel  nor  his  friends  were  at  all 
alarmed  at  his  fate  being  placed  in  the  hand  of  one  who  had 
suffered  so  deeply  from  the  consequence  of  the  acts  to  be 
investigated,  and  who  had  already  pronounced  upon  the  char- 
acter of  those  acts.” 

The  tyrant  against  which  we  need  protection  is  ourselves, 
our  passions,  our  excitement.  We  need  something  to  defend 
the  American  people  in  its  sober  mood  against  the  American 
people  in  a state  of  madness.  The  people  in  a state  of  calm 
and  thoughtfulness  is  the  real  people,  and  the  same  people  fren- 
zied is  the  tyrant  against  whose  oppressions  it  requires  to  be 
defended.  And  this  is  the  very  thing  which  the  jury-system 
will  not  do.  When  our  tyrant  reigns  the  jury  is  its  minion.  It 


34 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


is  the  tool  of  our  Jeffreys.  When  our  people  have  become 
maddened,  when  our  tyrant  has  opened  his  Bloody  Assizes, 
somewhere  in  the  providence  of  God  there  may  be  help  for  us, 
but  not  in  our  juries.  When  in  a state  of  lawlessness  we  appeal 
to  our  juries  we  appeal  not  from  Philip  drunk  to  Philip  sober, 
but  from  Philip  drunk  to  Philip  mad. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


IN  the  year  1786  a volume  of  poems  was  printed  at  Kilmar- 
nock, an  obscure  county-town  of  Scotland.  The  author, 
a young  man  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  had  had  few  of  the 
advantages  of  education.  His  whole  life  had  been  one  of  toil 
and  struggle.  The  rising  sun  had  found  him  at  his  labor,  and 
the  setting  sun  had  seen  him  still  toiling.  His  father  had  strug- 
gled with  poverty  and  misfortune,  still  giving  way  in  the  contest, 
till  death  came  as  a friend  and  removed  him  from  the  midst  of 
his  enemies.  “After  three  years  of  tossing  and  whirling  in  the 
vortex  of  litigation,  he  was  just  saved  from  the  horrors  of  a 
jail  by  a consumption. ” The  son  had  been  obliged  to  engage 
in  the  contest  from  which  his  father  had  been  snatched.  But 
unresting  labor  could  not  draw  bread  from  the  barren  soil. 
The  more  he  toiled,  the  nearer  he  approached  to  starvation. 
He  saw  that  this  would  not  do.  In  despair  he  determined  to 
give  up  the  contest,  leave  his  native  land  forever,  and  expose 
himself  to  the  fevers  of  an  unhealthy  climate.  He  had  a soul 
that  was  quick  to  feel,  and  all  the  hardships  of  his  lot  had  not 
been  able  to  keep  him  from  giving  expression  to  his  feelings. 
He  had  composed  poems  while  between  the  handles  of  the 
plow,  and  these  poems,  circulated  in  manuscript,  had  gained 
him  some  reputation  among  his  rustic  friends.  While  thinking  of 
the  means  of  raising  money  to  enable  him  to  leave  his  country 
the  idea  presented  itself  that  perhaps  a volume  of  his  poems 
might  produce  something*  if  any  one  could  be  induced  to  print 
it.  They  printed  books  in  Edinburgh;  but  the  young  man  would 
almost  as  soon  have  thought  of  trying  to  get  his  book  printed 


36 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


in  heaven  as  in  that  city.  He  looked  upon  himself  as  “ pos- 
sessed of  some  poetic  abilities,”  but  he  declared  that  to  the 
genius  of  a Ramsay  or  the  glorious  dawnings  of  the  poor  unfor- 
tunate Ferguson  he  had  not  the  most  distant  pretensions  “even 
in  his  highest  pulse  of  vanity.”  Such  poems  as  his  were  not 
to  be  printed  in  Edinburgh.  But  John  Wilson  in  Kilmarnock 
might  be  induced  to  undertake  the  printing.  “Wee  Johnnie” 
was  applied  to;  but  he  was  too  prudent  to  incur  the  risk  of 
publication.  He  did  not  believe  a sufficient  number  of  copies 
could  be  sold  to  pay  for  the  printing.  But  some  friends  exerted 
themselves  to  obtain  subscriptions;  and  after  three  hundred 
and  fifty  copies  had  been  subscribed  for,  “Wee  Johnnie”  agreed 
to  print  six  hundred  copies  at  the  poet’s  expense.  While  the 
young  man  was  correcting  the  proofs  he  found  it  difficult  to 
procure  food.  A piece  of  oat-cake  and  a bottle  of  two-penny 
ale  made  his  customary  dinner;  and  this  he  was  not  always 
sure  of  getting. 

But  the  book  was  at  last  printed;  and  after  “Wee  Johnnie” 
had  been  paid  the  sum  of  twenty  pounds  remained  to  the  poet. 
The  poems  found  their  way  to  the  hearts  of  the  Scottish  peas- 
antry. Some  of  the  members  of  more  polished  society  too  saw 
the  book,  and  with  a lofty  and  patronizing  air  looked  at  the 
poems  of  the  Ayrshire  plowman.  Soon  a few  of  the  better 
spirits  began  to  look  with  astonishment  toward  each  other  and 
ask,  “What  does  all  this  mean?  If  this  is  not  poetry,  what  is 
it?”  and  the  conviction  flashed  upon  the  public  mind  that  a 
poet  had  arisen  among  men. 

The  poet  had  now  the  means  of  leaving  his  country,  and 
was  waiting  for  the  opportunity  to  go.  But  he  was  bound  to 
his  country  by  ties  so  strong  that  the  rupture  of  the  bonds  was 
tearing  his  heart.  The  bursting  tears  declared  his  agony  as  he 
thought  of  leaving  forever  “the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr.”  He  was 
returning  over  a solitary  moor  after  leaving  some  friends  from 
whom  he  had  parted,  as  he  supposed,  forever.  It  was  a gloomy 
evening  in  the  end  of  autumn.  The  wind  was  howling,  the 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


37 


dark  clouds  driving  across  the  sky,  and  the  cold  rain  dashing 
itself  in  the  face  of  the  wanderer.  All  nature  was  in  gloomy 
harmony  with  his  feelings.  The  voice  of  the  moaning  wind  was 
the  voice  of  his  own  spirit,  and  the  gloomy  night  that  was  gath- 
ering fast  over  the  moor  was  darkening  upon  his  own  soul.  He 
gave  expression  to  his  feelings  in  what  he  supposed  to  be  the 
last  poem  he  should  compose  in  Scotland : 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast, 

Loud  roars  the  wild  inconstant  blast; 

Yon  murky  cloud  is  foul  with  rain; 

I see  it  driving  o’er  the  plain ; 

The  hunter  now  has  left  the  moor, 

The  scattered  coveys  meet  secure; 

While  here  I wander,  pressed  with  care, 

Along  the  lonely  banks  of  Ayr. 

The  autumn  mourns  her  ripening  corn 
By  early  winter’s  ravage  torn ; 

Across  her  placid  azure  sky 
She  sees  the  scowling  tempest  fly. 

Chill  runs  my  blood  to  see  it  rave — 

I think  upon  the  stormy  wave, 

Where  many  a#  danger  I must  dare 
Far  from  the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr. 

5T  is  not  the  surging  billow’s  roar ; 

’T  is  not  that  fatal,  deadly  shore ; 

Though  death  in  every  shape  appear, 

The  wretched  have  no  more  to  fear! 

But  round  my  heart  the  ties  are  bound, 

That  heart  transpierced  with  many  a wound ; 

These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I tear, 

To  leave  the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr. 

Farewell  old  Coila’s  hills  and  dales, 

Her  heathy  moors  and  winding  vales;* 

The  scenes  where  wretched  fancy  roves, 

Pursuing  past  unhappy  loves! 

Farewell  my  friends!  farewell  my  foes! 

My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with  those — 

The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare — 

Farewell  the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr! 


33 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


But  a letter  from  the  good  Dr.  Blacklock,  the  blind  poet, 
prevented  his  voyage  to  Jamaica.  When  the  poems  were  read 
to  him  his  soul  was  filled  with  delight.  “ I think/7  said  he,  “ I 
shall  never  open  the  book  without  feeling  my  astonishment 
renewed  and  increased.77  He  insisted  that  the  young  man 
must  go  to  Edinburgh  and  have  a new  edition  immediately 
printed.  This  encouragement  fired  the  poet  so  much  that  away 
he  “ posted  off  to  Edinburgh  without  a single  acquaintance  or  a 
single  letter  of  introduction.77  Among  “ Edina's  palaces  and 
towers77  he  was  out  of  place.  Those  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
estimating  men  by  a conventional  standard  could  not  see  his 
greatness  through  the  rough  exterior.  He  was  pointed  out  to  a 
fine  lady  in  the  street,  who  exclaimed,  “What  a clodhopper!77 
She  had  probably  just  left  a company  of  gentlemen  whose  gar- 
ments were  eloquent  in  the  praise  of  their  tailor,  whose  bow 
was  a recommendation  of  their  dancing-master,  and  who  were 
skillful  in  pouring  soft  nonsense  into  soft  receptacles.  The 
mind  that  could  have  added  to  itself  all  the  intellect  of  all  her 
fashionable  associates  without  feeling  itself  any  larger  by  the 
addition  belonged  to  “a  clodhopper!77  But  the  clodhopper's 
poems  were  reprinted,  and  he  returned  to  his  clods. 

Ten  years  after  this  “life’s  fitful  fever77  was  over,  and  the 
body  of  the  poet  was  sleeping  in  the  kirkyard  of  Dumfries. 
But  within  that  time  the  name  of  the  peasant  bard  had  taken 
its  place  among  the  great  names  of  the  earth.  The  body  was 
followed  to  the  grave  by  a multitude  amounting  to  many  thou- 
sands, and  when  the  first  shovelful  of  earth  sounded  on  the 
coffin-lid  tears  were  seen  on  faces  to  which  they  had  long  been 
strangers.  A splendid  mausoleum  now  marks  the  resting-place 
of  his  remains.  Within  a short  distance  from  this  stands  the 
“auld  clay  biggin  77  in  which  the  poet  first  drew  the  breath  of 
life — a rude  structure  built  of  clay  by  the  hands  of  his  father. 
There  is  not  so  great  a difference  between  these  two  structures 
as  there  is  between  the  condition  of  the  young  peasant  and  the 
fame  of  the  world-renowned  poet.  Those  who  erected  the 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


39 


mausoleum  intended  to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  the  poet; 
but  he  had  himself  already  raised  a monument  more  durable 
than  brass  or  marble.  The  princes  and  lords  of  his  day  have 
flourished  and  faded;  but  the  name  of  the  peasant  on  whom 
they  looked  down  will  be  remembered  when  the  institutions 
that  gave  them  their  distinction  shall  be  regarded  as  evidences 
of  the  folly  of  a remote  age.  Pilgrimages  are  made  to  the 
places  consecrated  by  his  labor  or  his  song.  He  once  lamented 
that  there  had  been  “ no  Scottish  poet  of  any  eminence  to  make 
the  fertile  banks  of  Irvine,  the  romantic  woodlands  and  seques- 
tered scenes  of  Ayr,  and  the  heathy  mountainous  source  and 
winding  sweep  of  the  Doon  emulate  Tay,  Forth,  Ettrick,  and 
Tweed.”  But  Ayr,  Lugar,  Afton,  and  bonny  Doon  do  not 
merely  emulate  “Tay,  Forth,  Ettrick,  and  Tweed,”  but  they 
have  become  classic,  and  flow  on  in  the  light  of  song  by  the 
side  of  the  Peneus  and  the  Tiber.  The  highborn  “ Lass  of 
Ballochmyle,”  who  refused  to  answer  his  letter,  learned  to  con- 
sider it  the  distinction  of  her  life  that  she  was  the  subject  of 
one  of  his  poems.  The  editions  of  his  works  are  counted  by 
the  hundred.  The  noblest  Scot  is  proud  to  call  himself  a coun- 
tryman of  the  poet,  and  when  men  wish  to  do  honor  to  the 
land  of  his  nativity  they  call  it  “the  Land  of  Burns.” 

The  Saxon  Caedmon  had  always  refused  to  touch  the  harp 
when  it  was  passed  round  at  the  feast,  feeling  that  he  was  not 
able  to  bring  music  from  its  strings.  He,  the  cowherd,  could 
not  venture  to  lay  his  hands  upon  the  “Wood  of  Joy,”  and 
when  it  was  offered  to  him  he  fled  with  shame  from  the  hall. 
On  one  occasion,  having  retired  with  vexation  to  the  stable  in 
which  he  was  to  keep  guard  during  the.  night,  he  lay  down,  and 
was  overcome  with  sleep.  In  the  midst  of  his  slumber  a stran- 
ger appeared  to  him  and  said,  “ Caedmon,  sing  me  some  song.” 
The  cowherd  replied  that  he  could  not  sing.  “Nay,  but  thou 
must  sing,”  replied  the  apparition.  The  Saxon  bard,  to  his  own 
astonishment,  opened  his  mouth  and  sang.  Burns,  like  Caed- 
mon, had  sprung  from  the  people,  and  felt  no  ability  to  sing  till 


4o 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


Passion  commanded  him  to  sing.  He  sang,  and  was  astonished 
at  his  own  song.  If  we  ask  ourselves  what  is  the  most  striking 
characteristic  of  his  poems  we  shall  find  it  to  be  deep  feeling. 
His  poetry  is  the  expression  of  the  deep  feelings  of  his  soul, 
whether  in  its  gay  or  its  pensive,  its  hopeful  or  its  despairing 
moods.  It  is  the  autobiography  of  his  soul.  He  loves,  and 
his  love  forms  itself  into  a song;  mirth  fills  his  soul,  and  over- 
flows in  song;  he  sins,  and  remorse  and  despair  rage  in  his 
verse.  It  is  not  necessary  for  moralists  to  speak  of  the  sins  of 
Burns;  for  he  has  spoken  of  them  himself  in  words  of  titanic 
strength  that  they  must  despair  of  imitating.  The  pangs  of 
conscience  are  felt  in  his  terrible  lines.  When  thinking  of  his 
follies  the  burden  of  life  becomes  too  great  to  bear,  and  he  wel- 
comes Ruin — 

No  more  I shrink,  appalled,  afraid; 

I court,  I beg  thy  friendly  aid 
To  close  this  scene  of  care. 

Burns  looked  upon  the  world  in  all  its  stern  reality.  To 
him  there  was  no  fairyland — 

4 ‘An  ampler  ether,  a diviner  air, 

And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleam. ” 

The  Spenserian  imagination  was  wanting  to  him.  It  was  feeling 
only  that  rendered  life  poetical.  It  was  feeling  that  embalmed 
the  mouse  and  the  daisy  in  immortal  verse.  Wordsworth  looked 
upon  common  objects,  and  saw 

Splendor  in  the  grass  and  glory  in  the  flower. 

The  hues  of  imagination  spread  over  the  objects  and  gave  the 
splendor  and  the  glory.  Wordsworth’s  eye  is  calm,  but  the  eye 
of  Burns  glows  with  passion.  Burns  could  not  write  poems  to 
imaginary  Phillises  and  Delias  and  other  silly  companions  of 
“ silly  sheep.” 

No  idly-feigned  poetic  pains 

My  sad,  love-lorn  lamentings  claim ; 

No  shepherd’s  pipe — Arcadian  strains; 

No  fabled  tortures,  quaint  and  tame. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


41 


He  poured  forth  his  burning  words  to  real,  living  Marys  and 
Jeans.  He  was  not  smoking  his  cigar  by  a comfortable  fireside 
when  he  composed  his  address  to  “ Mary  in  Heaven” — 

Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear’st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 

When  we  read  some  of  Moore's  songs  we  sometimes  have  a 
suspicion  that  the  ardor  of  feeling  is  assumed  for  the  purpose 
of  introducing  some  pretty  figure  or  some  striking  expression, 
as  ladies  sometimes  become  pensive  in  order  to  display  the  jew- 
eled hand  on  which  the  thoughtful  brow  reposes.  One  may 
sometimes,  for  instance,  be  tempted  to  suspect  that  the  song 
“ Believe  me  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms”  was  written 
for  the  sake  of  the  pretty  simile  of  the  sunflower.  But  in 
regard  to  Burns's  songs  it  is  impossible  for  such  suspicions  to 
enter  the  mind.  Every  thing  speaks  his  sincerity.  The  “ words 
that  burn”  represent  “thoughts  that  breathe.” 

Those  Scottish  songs  and  that  Scottish  music  — the  songs 
worthy  of  the  music  and  the  music  worthy  of  the  songs,  and 
both  worthy  of  the  gods!  The  thought  of  them  takes  us  back 
to  the  time  when  a song  was  not  admired  merely  because  it  gave 
some  cantatrice  the  opportunity  of  displaying  her  command 
over  the  vocal  organs  — not  because  the  notes  rose  high,  but 
because  they  came  from  the  depths  of  the  heart. 

“Compared  with  these  Italian  trills  are  tame; 

The  tickled  ear  no  lieart-felt  raptures  raise.” 

Though  those  old  airs  may  not  be  arranged  according  to  the 
rules  of  musical  art , they  are  the  language  of  musical  nature ; 
and 

“Thirl  the  heart-strings  through  the  breast, 

A’  to  the  life.” 

They  seem  to  have  been  uttered  by  Nature  herself  and  sent 
floating  among  the  hills  and  streams  — immortal  strains  seeking 
the  immortal  verse  to  which  they  belong,  as  Psyche  wandered 
in  search  of  her  Cupid,  or  Isis  in  quest  of  the  limbs  of  her 

4 


42 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


lost  Osiris.  Happy  are  those  that  have  met  with  the  verse  of 
Burns! 

Throughout  that  vast  empire  “on  whose  dominions  the  sun 
never  sets,”  wherever  the  “Queen  of  the  Ocean”  has  sent  emi- 
grants, there  are  heard  the  songs  of  Burns.  He  who  is  about 
to  exile  himself  from  home  finds  himself  weeping  to  the  strains 
of  “The  Gloomy  Night  is  Gathering  Fast;”  and  when  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges  he  meets  the  friends  of  his  youth  their 
feelings  burst  forth  in  the  notes  of  “Auld  Lang  Syne.”  In  the 
wilds  of  Australia  the  lover  sings  to  his  mistress — 

Now  Nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea, 

And  aJ  is  young  and  sweet  like  thee. 

At  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  the  lover  whose  all  in  life  is  gone 
is  found  dissolved  in  grief  by  “ Mary  in  Heaven,”  while  another 
on  the  shores  of  Nova  Scotia  bewails  his  loss  in  the  dirge  of 
“Highland  Mary.”  The  deserted  maiden  finds  a “Bonny 
Boon”  among  the  tributaries  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  sings  a 
remonstrance  to  the  bird  that  minds  her  of  joys  “departed 
never  to  return.”  From  the  heart  of  the  soldier  who  has 
returned  to  his  home  on  the  banks  of  the  Susquehanna  his 
happiness  wells  forth  in  the  strains  of  “The  Soldier’s  Return.” 
The  blooming  maiden  in  the  joyousness  of  her  heart  sings, 
“ O ! whistle  and  I will  come  to  ye,  my  lad,”  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ayr,  and  in  other  days  sings  “John  Anderson,  my  joe”  to 
her  husband  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio.  In  the  fields  of  Britain 
the  honest  laborer  expresses  his  contempt  for  supercilious  wealth 
as  he  sings  “For  a’  that  and  a’  that,”  and  in  the  forests  of  Amer- 
ica the  patriot  has  been  nerved  to  “ do  or  die  ” by  the  trumpet 
notes  of  “ Bruce’s  Address.” 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


EDGAR  A.  POE  has  given  us  under  this  title  a very  inter- 
esting essay,  in  which  he  professes  to  admit  us  into  the 
workshop  in  which  “The  Raven”  was  manufactured.  He 
describes  the  material  he  has  selected,  shows  us  all  his  tools, 
enlarges  on  the  merits  of  each  one,  and  explains  his  manner  of 
using  them. 

Having  been  led  by  some  circumstances  to  the  determination 
to  write  a poem,  he  first  fixed  upon  the  length.  This  he  deter- 
mined should  be  about  one  hundred  lines,  so  that  it  might  be 
read  at  a single  sitting,  and  derive  all  the  advantages  which 
belong  to  “unity  of  impression.”  He  then  fixed  upon  “beauty” 
as  the  province  of  the  poem,  and  upon  “sadness”  as  the  tone  of 
the  highest  manifestation  of  beauty.  He  then  betook  himself 
“ to  ordinary  induction,  with  the  view  of  obtaining  some  artistic 
piquancy  which  might  serve  as  the  key-note  in  the  structure  of 
the  poem — some  pivot  upon  which  the  whole  structure  might 
turn.”  He  found  what  he  desired  in  the  1'efrain.  This  refrain, 
he  convinced  himself,  must  be  brief,  sonorous,  and  susceptible 
of  protracted  emphasis.  These  considerations  led  him  to  the 
long  o “as  the  most  sonorous  vowel,  in  connection  with  r as  the 
most  producible  consonant.”  In  seeking  for  a word  embodying 
the  selected  vowel  and  consonant  and  in  keeping  with  the  sad- 
ness which  he  had  fixed  upon  as  the  tone  of  the  poem,  the 
word  nevermore  was  the  first  which  presented  itself. 

The  next  point  was  to  find  some  pretext  for  the  continuous 
repetition  of  this  word.  The  difficulty,  he  discovered,  arose 
from  the  assumption  that  the  repetition  was  to  be  made  by  a 

(43) 


44 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


human  being;  he  therefore  determined  to  select  a non-reasoning 
creature  capable  of  speech.  “A  parrot/’  he  says,  “in  the  first 
instance  presented  itself,  but  was  superseded  by  a raven,  as 
equally  capable  of  speech,  and  infinitely  more  in  keeping  with 
the  intended  tone.” 

The  same  sort  of  cold  reasoning  led  him  to  the  selection  of 
the  death  of  a beautiful  woman  as  most  consonant  with  the 
ideas  of  sadness  and  beauty  which  were  to  form  the  expression 
of  the  poem  and  to  the  introduction  of  the  bereaved  lover  as 
the  one  whose  lips  are  best  suited  to  such  a topic.  He  then 
coolly  arranged  the  relative  strength  of  each  stanza,  the  versifi- 
cation, the  locality,  the  mode  of  introducing  the  raven,  the 
placing  of  it  upon  the  bust  of  Pallas,  and  all  the  other  inci- 
dents of  the  poem. 

The  process  of  decomposition  could  hardly  go  further  than 
this.  What  the  young  pupil  generally  considers  “composition” 
here  begins  with  a single  letter,  the  vowel  o. 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  this  ingenious  decomposition 
of  “The  Raven”  is  carried  further  than  is  warranted  by  the 
truth.  A more  probable  process  may  be  imagined.  In  the 
beginning  of  the  essay  he  alludes  to  a correspondence  between 
Mr.  Dickens  and  himself  about  the  composition  of  “ Barnaby 
Rudge;”  and  here  is  more  probably  to  be  found  the  key  to 
the  composition  of  “The  Raven.”  Barnaby  Rudge’s  raven 
struck  Poe’s  fancy,  and  the  idea  presented  itself  that  the  raven 
might  be  employed  with  good  effect  in  poetry  as  well  as  in 
prose.  Poe’s  raven  is  nothing  other  than  Dickens’s  raven  in 
a melancholy  mood.  In  “Barnaby  Rudge”  he  is  first  men- 
tioned by  Gabriel  Vardon.  “‘Ah!  he’s  a knowing  blade!’  said 
Vardon,  shaking  his  head.  ‘I  should  be  sorry  to  talk  secrets 
before  him.  Oh!  he’s  a deep  customer.  I’ve  no  doubt  he 
can  read  and  write  and  cast  accounts  if  he  choses.  What  was 
that?  — him  tapping  at  the  door?’  ‘No,’  returned  the  widow. 
‘ It  was  in  the  street,  I think.  ’T  is  some  one  knocking  softly 
at  the  shutter.  Who  can  it  be  ? ’ ” 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


45 


Here  is  a tapping  which  Vardon  supposes  to  be  made  by  the 
raven  at  the  chamber-door;  then  the  tapping  is  found  to  be  at 
the  window-shutter.  In  the  poem  the  lover  says — 

Suddenly  there  came  a tapping, 

As  of  some  one  gently  rapping, 

Rapping  at  my  chamber-door. 

But  upon  opening  the  door  he  finds  nothing  there. 

Then  into  the  chamber  turning, 

All  my  soul  within  me  burning, 

Soon  I heard  again  a tapping 
Somewhat  louder  than  before: 

Surely,  said  I,  surely  that  is 
Something  at  my  window-lattice. 

In  “ Barnaby  Rudge”  the  raven  frequently  exclaims,  “I’m 
a devil,  I ’m  a devil,  I ’m  a devil ! ” Seated  on  the  back  of  an 
easy-chair  and  breaking  out  into  one  of  his  strange  speeches, 
he  makes  Gabriel  Vardon  start  as  if  the  bird  had  been  “some 
supernatural  agent.”  Barnaby  Rudge  says  of  him:  “Why,  any 
time  of  night  you  may  see  his  eyes  in  my  dark  room  shining 
like  two  sparks.”  After  observing  some  of  his  actions,  “the 
locksmith  shook  his  head  — perhaps  in  some  doubt  of  the 
creature’s  being  really  nothing  but  a bird.”  In  the  prison  poor 
Barnaby  says:  “He  never  speaks  in  this  place;  he  never  says  a 
word  in  jail;  he  sits  and  mopes  all  day  in  this  dark  corner,  doz- 
ing sometimes,  and  sometimes  looking  at  the  light  that  creeps 
in  through  the  bars  and  shines  in  his  bright  eye  as  if  a spark 
from  those  great  fires  had  fallen  into  the  room  and  were  burn- 
ing yet.”* 

Now  look  at  the  result  of  these  suggestions  in  the  poem — 
The  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now 
Burned  into  my  bosom’s  core. 

“Prophet!”  said  I,  “thing  of  evil! — 

Prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 

Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether 
Tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore!” 

And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming 
Of  a demon’s  that  is  dreaming. 


46 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


Whatever  may  have  been  Poe’s  object  in  giving  his  account 
of  the  composition  of  “The  Raven” — whether  he  wished  to 
gratify  his  vanity  by  exciting  wonder,  or  whether  he  wished  to 
put  the  critics  on  the  wrong  scent — it  is  evident  that  the  account 
contains  falsehoods.  He  never  thought  of  introducing  a parrot 
repeating  “nevermore”  in  a poem  of  sadness;  his  taste  was  too 
good  for  any  thing  of  that  kind.  He  did  not  take  o as  “ the 
most  sonorous  vowel”  and  r as  the  “most  producible  conso- 
nant,” and  afterward  select  the  word  “nevermore”  because  it 
embodies  those  sounds. 

It  does  not  detract  from  Poe’s  merit  that  he  borrowed  the 
idea  of  the  raven.  Dickens  used  it  for  one  purpose,  Poe  for 
another.  It  was  a merit  in  the  latter  that  he  discovered  another 
application  of  the  idea.  Greater  freedoms  than  this  are  allowed 
in  the  literary  world.  Goldsmith  borrowed  the  idea  of  Croaker 
in  “The  Good-natured  Man”  from  Dr.  Johnson’s  “Suspirius;” 
the  laughable  scene  about  the  jewels  between  Tony  Lumpkin 
and  his  mother  was  suggested  by  a passage  in  Tiel  Eulenspie- 
gel ; yet  the  fame  of  Goldsmith  is  not  impaired  by  such  circum- 
stances as  these.  The  palace  of  Circe  in  the  Odyssey  suggested 
to  Tasso  Armida’s  palace,  and  to  Ariosto  the  palace  of  Alcina. 
Spenser’s  “Bower  of  Bliss”  is  a reproduction  of  the  palace  of 
Armida;  and  Ariosto’s  Alcina  and  her  sisters  re -appear  in 
Spenser’s  Medina,  Perissa,  and  Elissa.  “Shakespeare  drama- 
tized stories  which  had  previously  appeared  in  print,  it  is  true,” 
observed  Nicholas  Nickleby.  “Meaning  Bill,  sir,”  said  the  lit- 
erary gentleman.  “ So  he  did.  Bill  was  an  adapter,  certainly, 
so  he  was — and  very  well  he  adapted  too,  considering.”  Who- 
ever can  adapt  “very  well  too,  considering,”  is  at  liberty  to 
follow  the  example  of  Shakespeare,  and  “adapt.”  But  he  is 
not  at  liberty  to  deny  the  adaptation  by  attributing  his  inspira- 
tion to  the  letter  o. 

But  whatever  falsehood  there  may  be  in  the  details,  this 
essay  of  Poe’s  contains  a great  truth,  that  labor  is  necessary  in 
composition.  After  he  had  determined  to  introduce  the  raven 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


47 


into  a poem  he  probably  arranged  the  details  very  much  as  he 
has  represented. 

It  is  a very  common  idea  that 

“Songs  gush  from  the  heart 
As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 

Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start.” 

But  no  poem  worthy  of  the  name  ever  gushed  forth  in  this 
manner.  A man  may  hear 

“in  his  soul  the  music 
Of  wonderful  melodies;” 

but  when  he  attempts  to  give  expression  to  these  “ wonderful 
melodies”  he  must 

“Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait;” 

that  is,  he  must  exercise  industry  and  patience.  “ Genius  is 
patience,”  says  Buffon.  “ 4 Genius’  means  transcendent  capacity 
of  taking  trouble,  first  of  all,”  says  Carlyle.  He  who  under- 
takes to  build  a poem  must  not  expect  the  stones  to  come 
dancing  into  the  walls  to  the  sound  of  the  lyre.  He  must  dili- 
gently gather  them  up  and  put  them  in  the  right  place.  If  one 
can  not  be  worked  in,  he  must  try  another.  The  walls  rise  by 
degrees,  requiring  continued  exertion.  It  is  true  that  not  every 
one  can  see  the  materials  and  discover  their  fitness.  44  The  eye 
sees  what  the  eye  brings  means  of  seeing.”  There  must  be 
eyes,  and  not  mere  eye-sockets.  He  who  thinks  of  nothing 
but  keeping  his  boots  clean  as  he  walks  will  not  see  the  gems 
that  glitter  in  his  path.  Two  persons  may  look  at  the  same 
object,  and  one  will  see  merely  a rough  stone,  while  the  other 
will  see  a statue  of  Apollo  surrounded  by  extraneous  matter. 
But  the  Apollo  will  not  come  forth  without  the  aid  of  the  ham- 
mer and  chisel.  Southey  says,  in  his  44  Lines  to  a Spider,” 

Both  busily  our  needful  food  to  win 
We  work,  as  nature  taught,  with  ceaseless  pains ; 

Thy  bowels  thou  dost  spin, 

I spin  my  brains. 


48 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


Poe’s  account  of  the  composition  of  “The  Raven”  was 
intended  for  the  public  eye.  He  threw  open  the  doors  of  his 
workshop  and  invited  the  public  to  walk  in  and  admire  the 
skill  with  which  he  handled  his  tools.  But  circumstances  have 
enabled  us  to  enter  the  workshop  of  genius  and  admire  the 
process  in  the  absence  of  the  workman,  so  that  there  is  nothing 
to  excite  suspicion  of  an  attempt  at  display.  Among  the  papers 
of  Sheridan  Moore  found  sketches  of  the  plan  and  dialogue  of 
what  he  calls  “the  best  comedy  in  the  English  language,”  the 
“ School  for  Scandal.”  From  these  sketches  it  appears  that  what 
we  might  suppose  to  have  been  “the  rapid  offspring  of  a care- 
less but  vigorous  fancy”  was  in  reality  “the  slow  result  of  many 
and  doubtful  experiments,  gradually  unfolding  beauties  unfore- 
seen even  by  him  who  produced  them,  and  arriving  at  length, 
step  by  step,  at  perfection.”  It  seems  that  the  “ School  for 
Scandal”  was  gradually  produced  by  combining  what  was 
intended  to  be  incorporated  in  two  distinct  plays;  one  of  them 
being  more  properly  the  “ School  for  Scandal,”  the  other  being 
a two-act  play  deriving  its  interest  from  the  matrimonial  difficul- 
ties of  the  Teazles.  From  Solomon  Teazle,  an  almost  clownish 
widower  who  has  had  five  children,  is  gradually  evolved  the 
gentlemanly  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  who  has  made  but  the  one  exper- 
iment in  matrimony.  A silly  country  girl  is  transformed  into  the 
lively,  fashionable,  and  innocent  though  imprudent  Lady  Teazle. 
To  see  how  great  a change  was  made  in  the  character  of  the 
husband,  we  have  only  to  imagine  such  a soliloquy  as  the  fol- 
lowing in  the  mouth  of  Sir  Peter  Teazle — 

“In  the  year  ’44  I married  my  first  wife;  the  wedding  was 
at  the  end  of  the  year — aye!  ’t  was  in  December;  yet  before 
Ann.  Dom.  ’45  I repented.  A month  before  we  swore  we  pre- 
ferred each  other  to  the  whole  world — perhaps  we  spoke  truth; 
but  when  we  came  to  promise  to  love  each  other  till  death, 
there  I ’m  sure  we  lied.  Well,  Fortune  owed  me  a good  turn: 
in  ’48  she  died.  Ah,  silly  Solomon,  in  ’52  I find  thee  married 
again ! Here  too  is  a catalogue  of  ills — Thomas,  born  February 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


49 


1 2th;  Jane,  born  January  6th;  so  they  go  on  to  the  number  of 
five.  However,  by  death  I stand  credited  but  by  one.  Well, 
Margery,  rest  her  soul!  was  a queer  creature;  when  she  was 
gone  I felt  awkward  at  first,  and  being  sensible  that  wishes 
availed  nothing,  I often  wished  for  her  return.  For  ten  years 
more  I kept  my  senses  and  lived  single.  Oh,  blockhead,  dolt 
Solomon!  within  this  twelvemonth  thou  art  married  again  — 
married  to  a woman  thirty  years  younger  than  thyself,  a fash- 
ionable woman/’  etc. 

“ It  is  chiefly,  however,  in  Clerimont,  the  embryo  of  Charles 
Surface,”  says  Moore,  “that  we  perceive  how  imperfect  may  be 
the  first  lineaments  that  Time  and  Taste  contrive  to  mold  grad- 
ually into  beauty.”  Referring  to  the  scene  that  introduces  him 
in  the  original  sketch,  Moore  says:  “No  one  ought  to  be  dis- 
heartened by  the  failure  of  a first  attempt  after  reading  it.  The 
spiritless  language — the  awkward  introduction  of  the  sister  into 
the  plot — the  antiquated  expedient  of  dropping  the  letter — all, 
in  short,  is  of  the  most  undramatic  and  unpromising  descrip- 
tion, and  as  little  like  what  it  afterward  turned  to  as  the  block 
is  to  the  statue,  or  the  grub  to  the  butterfly.” 

Moore  gives  the  original  sketch  of  that  which  afterward 
became  the  spirited  matrimonial  quarrel  between  Sir  Peter  and 
Lady  Teazle,  and  says  of  it:  “The  greater  part  of  this  dialogue 
is  evidently  experimental,  and  the  play  or  repartee  protracted 
with  no  other  view  than  to  take  the  chance  of  a trump  of  wit 
or  humor  turning  up.” 

In  regard  to  style  too  Moore  says:  “There  is  not  a page  of 
these  manuscripts  that  does  not  bear  testimony  to  the  fastidious 
care  with  which  he  selected,  arranged,  and  molded  his  language 
so  as  to  form  it  into  that  transparent  channel  of  his  thoughts 
which  it  is  at  present.  His  chief  objects  in  correcting  were  to 
condense  and  simplify — to  get  rid  of  all  unnecessary  phrases 
and  epithets,  and,  in  short,  to  strip  away  from  the  thyrsus  of  his 
wit  every  leaf  that  could  render  it  less  light  and  portable.” 
He  gives  as  a specimen  the  passage  regarding  those  who  utter 

S 


50  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 

scandals  invented  by  others.  In  the  original  the  idea  is  thus 
expressed : “ People  who  utter  a tale  of  scandal,  knowing  it  to 
be  forged,  deserve  the  pillory  more  than  for  a forged  bank-note. 
They  can’t  pass  the  lie  without  putting  their  names  on  the  back 
of  it.  You  say  no  person  has  a right  to  come  on  you  because 
you  didn’t  invent  it;  but  you  should  know  that,  if  the  drawer 
of  the  lie  is  out  of  the  way,  the  injured  party  has  a right  to 
come  on  any  of  the  indorsers.”  How  much  more  forcible  is 
this  made  by  the  condensing  process ! 

“Mrs.  Candor.  But  sure  you  would  not  be  quite  so  severe 
on  those  who  only  report  what  they  hear? 

“Sir  P.  Yes,  madam,  I would  have  law-merchant  for  them 
too;  and,  in  all  cases  of  slander  currency,  whenever  the  draVer 
was  not  to  be  found,  the  injured  party  should  have  a right  to 
come  on  any  of  the  indorsers.” 

In  his  remarks  on  this  subject  Moore  states  this  general 
principle : “All  we  know  of  the  works  which  Immortality  has 
hitherto  marked  with  her  seal  sufficiently  authorize  the  general 
position  that  nothing  great  or  durable  has  ever  been  produced 
with  ease,  and  that  Labor  is  the  parent  of  all  the  lasting  won- 
ders of  this  world,  whether  in  verse  or  stone,  whether  in  poetry 
or  pyramids.” 

This  may  be  regarded  as  an  acknowledgment  that  Moore’s 
poems  did  not  gush  from  his  heart  without  labor. 

In  describing  the  pleasure  that  there  is  in  “poetic  pains” 
Cowper  illustrates  the  idea  of  the  necessity  of  labor : 

There  is  a pleasure  in  poetic  pains 

Which  only  poets  know.  The  shifts  and  turns, 

The  expedients  and  inventions  multiform, 

To  which  the  mind  resorts  in  chase  of  terms 
Though  apt,  yet  coy  and  difficult  to  win — 

To  arrest  the  fleeting  images  that  fill 

The  mirror  of  the  mind,  and  hold  them  fast, 

And  force  them  sit  till  he  has  penciled  off 
A faithful  likeness  of  the  forms  he  views ; 

Then  to  dispose  his  copies  with  such  art 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


51 


That  each  may  find  its  most  propitious  light, 

And  shine  by  situation,  hardly  less 
Than  by  the  labor  and  the  skill  it  cost, — 

Are  occupations  of  the  poet’s  mind 
So  pleasing,  and  that  steal  away  the  thought 
With  such  address  from  themes  of  sad  import 
That,  lost  in  his  own  musings,  happy  man ! 

He  feels  the  anxieties  of  life,  denied 
Their  wonted  entertainment,  all  retire; 

Such  joy  has  he  that  sings. 

A lady  and  her  two  brothers  were  once  benighted  in  passing 
through  a forest  inhabited  by  rough  peasants.  The  lady  for  a 
short  time  was  separated  from  her  brothers,  who  had  gone  to 
explore  the  path.  This  apparently  trifling  adventure  gave  rise 
to  Milton’s  “Comus,”  a work  which  is  as  full  of  beauties  as 
the  heaven  is  of  stars.  Its  music  “takes  the  prisoned  soul 
and  laps  it  in  Elysium.”  But  the  poet  did  not  find  this  music 
gush  forth  from  his  lyre  like  the  music  of  the  ^Eolian  harp, 
by  merely  suffering  the  wind  to  breathe  upon  its  strings.  The 
labor  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  there  is  scarcely  any  thing  en- 
tirely original  in  the  structure  of  the  poem.  Milton  polishes 
the  gem,  but  the  gem  itself  he  finds  in  the  stores  of  his  prede- 
cessors. He  shows  us  new  beauties  in  Fairyland,  “an  ampler 
ether,  a diviner  air;”  but  he  leads  us  thither  by  a path  which 
has  been  trodden  before.  Comus  in  the  midst  of  his  revelry, 
surrounded  by  a rout  of  monsters  who  by  drinking  of  his  cup 
have  had  their  human  countenance  changed  into  some  brutish 
form,  becomes  aware  of  the  presence  of  a virgin  in  the  forest. 
To  secure  her  for  his  purposes,  he  changes  himself  into  the 
form  of  a shepherd  and  offers  to  conduct  her  to  his  lowly  cot 
till  her  brothers  shall  be  found.  While  the  brothers,  in  great 
anxiety  about  the  fate  of  their  sister,  console  themselves  by  the 
thought  of  the  protection  which  Heaven  affords  to  innocence 
the  attendant  Spirit,  whose  duty  it  is  to  protect  from  the  wiles 
of  Comus  those  who  are  favored  of  high  Jove,  presents  himself 
to  them  in  the  form  of  a shepherd.  He  informs  them  of  the 


52  The  philosophy  of  coimposition. 

character  of  Comus  and  of  the  danger  in  which  their  sister  is 
placed;  he  also  tells  them  that  he  has  the  herb  haemony,  which 
is  of  sovereign  use  against  all  enchantments.  With  this  herb 
about  them  they  are  directed  to  rush  upon  the  enchanter,  break 
his  glass,  spill  the  liquor,  and  seize  his  wand.  In  carrying  out 
the  directions  they  neglect  the  seizing  of  the  wand,  which  leaves 
the  lady  still  fixed  to  her  enchanted  seat.  In  this  emergency 
they  invoke  the  water-nymph  Sabrina,  who  delivers  the  lady. 
The  scene  then  changes  to  the  castle,  where  country-dances  are 
introduced.  The  attendant  Spirit  restores  the  children  to  their 
parents  and  flies  off. 

When  Milton  determined  to  gratify  his  patron,  the  Earl  of 
Bridgewater,  by  composing  a mask  founded  upon  the  adventure 
of  his  daughter,  he  set  himself  diligently  to  labor.  In  an  old 
play  by  George  Peale,  published  about  twelve  years  before  the 
birth  of  Milton,  he  found  a story  which  he  could  use.  The 
story  in  the  play  is  that  a king  had  a beautiful  daughter  who 
was  stolen  away  by  a necromancer.  The  king  sent  out  all  his 
men  to  find  his  daughter.  Then  her  two  brothers  went  to  seek 
her.  They  met  with  a soothsayer,  of  whom  they  made  inquiries 
about  the  lady.  They  found  that  their  sister  was  a captive  to  a 
wicked  magician,  and  that  she  had  tasted  his  cup.  The  magi- 
cian was  killed  by  a Spirit  in  the  shape  of  a beautiful  page;  but 
the  lady  still  remained  enchanted.  The  disenchantment  was  at 
last  effected  by  breaking  a glass  and  extinguishing  a light,  and 
the  sister  returned  home  with  her  two  brothers.  In  this  old 
play  the  magician  is  represented  as  having  learned  his  art  from 
his  mother  Meroe;  and  Milton  represents  Comus  as  having 
been  taught  by  his  mother  Circe.  The  idea  of  transforming 
men  to  beasts  by  drinking  from  the  enchanter’s  cup  was  taken 
from  the  Odyssey.  A few  years  before  the  composition  of 
“ Comus ” “The  Faithful  Shepherdess”  of  Fletcher  appeared. 
Milton  found  that  he  could  derive  good  ideas  from  this  also. 
The  Satyr  of  Fletcher  becomes  the  attendant  Spirit  in  “ Comus.” 
The  River-god  in  “The  Faithful  Shepherdess”  is  the  Sabrina 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


S3 


of  “ Comus.”  The  readers  of  Homer  need  not  be  told  that  the 
herb  haemony  is  the  herb  moly  under  another  name.  The  idea 
of  the  country -dances  was  furnished  by  Shakespeare  in  the 
“Tempest;”  and  the  attendant  Spirit  himself  at  the  close  of 
the  mask  becomes  an  Ariel. 

But  “ Comus”  is  not  a work  in  which  a horse’s  neck  is  joined 
to  a human  head,  and  the  whole  covered  with  parti -colored 
plumage.  Milton  took  the  materials,  polishing  and  adorning 
them,  and  arranged  them  in  a structure  beautiful  not  only  in 
the  separate  parts  but  in  the  consistency  of  the  whole. 

To  show  how  Milton  “ invades  like  a conqueror,”  let  us  look 
at  a passage  in  “The  Faithful  Shepherdess”  and  at  the  corre- 
sponding passage  in  “Comus.”  When  the  Satyr  has  left  the 
“pious  shepherdess”  she  says: 

And  all  my  fears  go  with  thee. 

What  greatness  or  what  private  hidden  power 

Is  there  in  me  to  draw  submission 

From  this  rude  man  and  beast?  Sure  I am  mortal, 

The  daughter  of  a shepherd ; he  was  mortal, 

And  she  that  bore  me  mortal ; prick  my  hand 
And  it  will  bleed;  a fever  shakes  me, 

And  the  selfsame  wind  that  makes  the  young  lambs  shrink 
Makes  me  a-cold : my  fear  says  I am  mortal : 

Yet  I have  heard  (my  mother  told  it  me, 

And  now  I do  believe  it),  if  I keep 

My  virgin  flower  uncropt,  pure,  chaste,  and  fair, 

No  goblin,  wood-god,  fairy,  elf,  or  fiend, 

Satyr,  or  other  power  that  haunts  the  groves 
Shall  hurt  my  body,  or  by  vain  illusion 
Draw  me  to  wander  after  idle  fires 
Or  voices  calling  me  in  dead  of  night 
To  make  me  follow  and  so  tole  me  on 
Through  mire  and  standing  pools  to  find  my  ruin. 

Else  why  should  this  rough  thing,  who 

Never  knew  manners  nor  smooth  humanity,  whose  heats 

Are  rougher  than  himself  and  more  misshapen, 

Thus  mildly  kneel  to  me?  Sure  there ’s  a power 
In  the  great  name  of  virgin  that  binds  fast 
All  rude  uncivil  bloods,  all  appetites 


54 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


That  break  their  confines.  Then,  strong  Chastity, 

Be  thou  my  strongest  guard ; for  here  I ’ll  dwell 
In  opposition  against  fate  and  hell ! 

In  “Comus”  the  elder  brother  says  to  the  second  brother 

My  sister  is  not  so  defenseless  left 

As  you  imagine ; she  has  a hidden  strength 

Which  you  remember  not. 

Sec.  Bro.  What  hidden  strength, 

Unless  the  strength  of  Heaven,  if  you  mean  that? 

El.  Bro.  I mean  that  too ; but  yet  a hidden  strength 
Which,  if  Heaven  gave  it,  may  be  termed  her  own. 

’T  is  Chastity,  my  brother,  Chastity : 

She,  that  has  that,  is  clad  in  complete  steel ; 

And,  like  a quiver’d  nymph  with  arrows  keen, 

May  trace  huge  forests,  and  unharbor’d  heaths, 

Infamous  hills,  and  sandy  perilous  wilds, 

Where,  through  the  sacred  rays  of  Chastity, 

No  savage  fierce,  bandit,  or  mountaineer, 

Will  dare  to  soil  her  virgin  purity: 

Yea,  there  where  very  desolation  dwells, 

By  grots  and  caverns  shagg’d  with  horrid  shades, 

She  may  pass  on  with  unblench’d  majesty, 

Be  it  not  done  in  pride  or  in  presumption. 

Some  say,  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night 
In  fog  or  fire,  by  lake  or  moorish  fen, 

Blue  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn  unlaid  ghost 
That  breaks  his  magic  chains  at  curfew  time, 

No  goblin,  or  swart  fairy  of  the  mine, 

Hath  hurtful  power  o’er  true  virginity. 

Do  ye  believe  me  yet,  or  shall  I call 
Antiquity  from  the  old  schools  of  Greece 
To  testify  the  arms  of  Chastity? 

Hence  had  the  huntress  Dian  her  dread  bow, 

Fair  silver-shafted  queen,  forever  chaste, 

Wherewith  she  tamed  the  brinded  lioness 

And  spotted  mountain  pard,  but  set  at  naught 

The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid;  gods  and  men 

Feared  her  stern  frown,  and  she  was  queen  of  the  woods. 

What  was  that  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield 

That  wise  Minerva  wore,  unconquer’d  virgin, 

Wherewith  she  freesed  her  foes  to  congeal’d  stone. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


55 


By  rigid  looks  of  chaste  austerity, 

And  noble  grace  that  dash’d  brute  violence 
With  sudden  adoration  and  blank  awe? 

So  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  chastity, 

That  when  a soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 

A thousand  liveried  angels  lacky  her, 

Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt ; 

And  in  clear  dreams  and  solemn  vision 
Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear; 

Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 
Begins  to  cast  a beam  on  the  outward  shape, 

The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind, 

And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul’s  essence 
Till  all  be  made  immortal. 

Illustration  after  illustration  might  be  produced  to  show  the 
same  great  truth,  that  success  in  composition  is  the  result  of 
labor.  Every  one  who  engages  in  composition  needs  that  which 
King  Lear  so  earnestly  prayed  for — 

Ye  heavens, 

Grant  me  that  patience,  patience  I need. 

The  young  student  sits  down  to  his  desk,  spreads  out  his 
paper,  dips  his  pen  into  the  ink,  points  it  toward  the  paper, 
and  expects  the  ideas  to  gush  out  from  the  end  of  his  pen  in  a 
stream.  He  sits  awhile — no  stream  is  visible.  He  then  comes 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  “ can’t  write,”  and  yields  to  despair. 
He  has  been  impressed  with  the  belief  that  great  writers  are 
overpowered  by  a divine  afflatus;  he  regards  them  as  a sort  of 
mesmeric  patients  who,  without  any  will  of  their  own,  speak 
what  the  mesmerizer  wills.  He  thinks  that  Minerva  steps  forth 
full-armed  from  the  head  of  Jove  without  even  causing  a head- 
ache. He  has  to  be  taught  that  the  Muse  is  a maiden  who 
“ would  be  wooed,  and  not  unsought  be  won,”  and  that  on 
Mount  Parnassus  there  is  no  leap-year. 

The  simpleton  Matthew  in  “ Every  Man  in  his  Humor” 
says:  “Sir,  I am  melancholy  myself  divers  times,  sir;  and  then 
I do  no  more  but  take  a pen  and  paper  presently,  and  overflow 


56 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


you  half  a score  or  a dozen  sonnets  at  a sitting.”  There  is  just 
as  much  truth  in  this  as  there  is  in  the  boasts  of  his  friend 
Captain  Bobadil. 

I will  conclude  these  remarks  by  giving  a few  practical  sug- 
gestions on  the  subject  of  composition. 

The  object  of  what  I have  said  is  to  show  you  the  absolute, 
inexorable  necessity  of  labor,  if  you  wish  to  produce  any  thing 
of  worth.  The  Abbe  Marolles  once  boasting  to  a poet  that  his 
verses  cost  him  little,  “ They  cost  you  what  they  are  worth,” 
was  the  reply.  I wish  also  to  prevent  you  from  giving  way  to 
despair  when  you  find  how  great  the  labor  is.  When  a subject 
is  presented  to  you  do  not  shrink  from  it  because  it  seems  un- 
promising ; there  may  be  more  in  it  than  you  suppose.  Cowper 
at  the  age  of  eighteen  wrote  a poem  of  considerable  merit  on 
finding  the  heel  of  a shoe;  and  what  a poem  he  produced  when 
the  sofa  was  given  to  him  as  a task ! 

When  you  are  about  to  write  on  any  subject  the  first  thing 
for  you  to  do  is  to  think . As  it  is  expressed  in  “Festus” — 

Once 

Begun,  work  thou  all  things  into  thy  work, 

And  set  thyself  about  it  as  the  sea 
About  the  earth,  lashing  it  day  and  night. 

Though  all  may  seem  dark  at  first,  by  patient  thought  one  ray 
of  light  after  another  will  break  in,  until  at  last  a flood  of  light 
pours  itself  upon  the  subject.  In  an  October  afternoon  Gibbon 
sat  musing  among  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol  at  Rome,  while  bare- 
footed friars  were  singing  vespers  in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter. 
His  mind  went  back  to  the  warlike  men,  the  rulers  of  the 
world,  who  in  other  days  trod  the  same  ground.  Perhaps,  as 
the  shades  of  evening  closed  around  him,  he  saw  the  dim  forms 
of  the  old  warriors  stalking  amid  the  ruins  and  frowning  upon 
their  degenerate  successors.  He  there  determined  to  write  the 
history  of  the  change.  “At  the  outset,”  says  he,  “all  was  dark 
and  doubtful;  even  the  title  of  the  work,  the  true  era  of  the 
decline  and  fall  of  the  empire,  the  limits  of  the  introduction,  the 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


57 


division  of  the  chapters,  and  the  order  of  the  narration;  and  I 
was  often  tempted  to  cast  away  the  labor  of  seven  years.”  The 
first  chapter  he  rewrote  three  times,  and  the  second  and  third 
chapters  twice;  after  which  he  proceeded  with  greater  ease  till 
he  finished  what  is  regarded  as  the  greatest  historical  work  in 
the  English  language. 

Thackeray  says  of  Macaulay,  “Take  at  hazard  any  three 
pages  of  the  4 Essays 5 or  ‘ History,5  and,  glimmering  below  the 
stream  of  the  narrative,  you,  an  average  reader,  see  one,  two, 
three,  or  a half  score  of  allusions  to  other  historic  facts,  char- 
acters, literature,  poetry,  with  which  you  are  acquainted.  Your 
neighbor,  who  has  his  reading  and  his  little  stock  of  literature 
stowed  away  in  his  mind,  shall  detect  more  points,  allusions^ 
happy  touches,  indicating  not  only  the  prodigious  memory  and 
vast  learning  of  this  master,  but  the  wonderful  industry,  the 
honest,  humble  previous  toil  of  this  great  scholar.  He  reads 
twenty  books  to  write  a sentence,  he  travels  a hundred  miles  to 
make  a line  of  description.”  After  the  publication  of  his  two 
first  volumes  Macaulay  wrote  in  his  journal,  “I  have  now  made 
up  my  mind  to  change  my  plan  about  my  ‘ History.5  I will 
first  set  myself  to  know  the  whole  subject,  to  get  by  reading 
and  traveling  a full  acquaintance  with  William’s  reign.  I 
reckon  it  will  take  me  eighteen  months  to  do  this.  I must 
visit  Holland,  Belgium,  Scotland,  Ireland,  France.  The  Dutch 
archives  and  French  archives  must  be  ransacked.  I will  see 
whether  any  thing  is  to  be  got  from  other  diplomatic  collec- 
tions. I must  see  Londonderry,  the  Boyne,  Aghrim,  Limerick, 
Kinsale,  Namur  again,  Landen,  Steinkirk.  I must  turn  over 
hundreds,  thousands,  of  pamphlets;  Lambeth,  the  Bodleian, 
and  other  Oxford  libraries,  the  Devonshire  papers,  the  British 
Museum,  must  be  explored  and  notes  made;  and  then  I shall 
go  to  work.”  Mr.  Trevelyan  in  the  life  of  his  uncle  says, 
“Macaulay  never  allowed  a sentence  to  pass  muster  until  it 
was  as  good  as  he  could  make  it.  He  thought  little  of  recast- 
ing a chapter  in  order  to  obtain  a more  lucid  arrangement,  and 


58 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


nothing  whatever  of  reconstructing  a paragraph  for  the  sake  of 
one  happy  stroke  or  apt  illustration.  Whatever  the  worth  of 
his  labor,  at  any  rate  it  was  a labor  of  love. 

“‘Antonio  Stradivari*  has  an  eye 

That  winces  at  false  work  and  loves  the  true.’ 

“ Leonardo  da  Vinci  would  walk  the  whole  length  of  Milan 
that  he  might  alter  a single  tint  in  his  picture  of  the  Last 
Supper.  Napoleon  kept  the  returns  of  his  army  under  his 
pillow  at  night,  to  refer  to  in  case  he  was  sleepless;  and  would 
set  himself  problems  at  the  opera  while  the  overture  was  play- 
ing : 4 1 have  ten  thousand  men  at  Strasbourg,  fifteen  thousand 
men  at  Magdeburg,  twenty  thousand  at  Wurzburg.  By  what 
stages  must  they  march  so  as  to  arrive  at  Ratisbon  on  three 
successive  days?’  What  his  violins  were  to  Stradivarius  and 
his  fresco  to  Leonardo  and  his  campaigns  to  Napoleon  that  was 
his  ‘ History’  to  Macaulay.”  Mr.  Woodrow,  in  the  preface  to 
his  collection  of  the  Indian  Education  minutes,  says,  “ Scarcely 
five  consecutive  lines  in  any  of  Macaulay’s  minutes  will  be 
found  unmarked  by  blots  or  corrections.  . . My  copyist 

was  always  able  instantly  to  single  out  his  writing  by  the  multi- 
plicity of  corrections  and  blots  which  mark  the  page.  These 
corrections  are  now  exceedingly  valuable.  When  the  first 
master  of  the  English  language  corrects  his  own  composition, 
which  appeared  faultless  before,  the  correction  must  be  based 
on  the  highest  rules  of  criticism.” 

In  that  efflorescence  of  Oriental  wisdom,  “The  Thousand 
and  One  Nights,”  is  a story  of  a fisherman  whose  custom  it  was 
to  cast  his  nets  four  times  a day.  On  a certain  day  he  threw 
his  nets  into  the  sea,  and,  hauling  them  in,  found  that  he  had 
caught  the  body  of  a dead  ass.  Greatly  disappointed,  he  again 
threw  his  nets,  and  this  time  drew  out  a basket  filled  with  sand 


* Antonio  Stradivari,  or  Stradivarius,  was  a celebrated  maker  of  violins — born 
at  Cremona,  Italy,  in  the  year  1644,  died  in  1737 — who  spared  no  labor  in  striving 
to  make  his  instruments  perfect.  Some  of  his  violins  have  sold  for  three  thou- 
sand dollars, 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


59 


and  mud.  He  angrily  cast  aside  the  basket,  washed  his  nets 
from  mud,  threw  his  nets  again,  and  to  his  great  disgust  hauled 
in  stones,  shells,  and  filth.  After  having  prayed  earnestly  for 
success,  he  for  the  last  time  threw  in  his  nets.  He  again  feels  a 
heavy  weight  as  he  hauls  them  in.  What  is  this?  A vase  of 
yellow  copper,  fastened  with  lead  and  sealed.  He  shakes  it, 
but  there  is  no  rattling.  He  opens  it  with  his  knife,  turns  it  up, 
but  nothing  comes  out.  Setting  down  the  vase,  he  looks  at  it 
intently.  A thick  smoke  issues  from  the  vase,  rises  almost  to 
the  clouds,  and  spreads  itself  over  the  water  and  the  shore. 
Presently  the  smoke  begins  to  condense  itself;  and  soon  it 
takes  the  shape  of  a huge  genie  twice  as  large  as  any  of  the 
giants.  When  you  cast  your  nets  for  ideas  be  not  discouraged 
if  the  first  attempt  bring  you  nothing  but  what  you  will  have  to 
throw  aside.  When  you  see  smoke  spreading  around  you  look 
at  it  steadily,  and  you  will  see  it  begin  to  assume  a definite  form. 

Horace  tells  the  writer  that  he  should  take  a subject  suited 
to  his  strength;  but  whoever  exerts  all  his  powers  will  find  him- 
self possessed  of  much  greater  strength  than  he  had  supposed. 
I would  not  seek  to  persuade  every  one  that  he  can  be  a poet; 
but  there  are  many  poets  who  have  never  written  poems. 
Many  have  had  beautiful  visions  which  they  have  never 
attempted  to  render  visible  to  others.  Says  Wordsworth: 

O many  are  the  poets  that  are  sown 
By  Nature ! men  endowed  with  highest  gifts — 

The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine ; 

Yet  wanting  the  accomplishment  of  verse, 

(Which  in  the  docile  season  of  their  youth 
It  was  denied  them  to  acquire,  through  lack 
Of  culture  and  the  inspiring  aid  of  books; 

Or  haply  by  a temper  too  severe ; 

Or  a nice  backwardness  afraid  of  shame), 

Nor  having  e’er,  as  life  advanced,  been  led 

By  circumstance  to  take  into  the  height 

The  measure  of  themselves,  these  favored  beings, 

All  but  a scattered  few,  live  out  their  time, 

Husbanding  that  which  they  possess  within, 

And  go  to  the  grave  unthought  of. 


6o 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


When  you  have  fixed  upon  a subject,  and  have  begun  to 
think  about  it,  write  down  whatever  occurs  to  you  on  the  sub- 
ject. Many  of  your  thoughts  you  will  reject;  but  many  that 
you  feel  you  must  reject  unfold  themselves  into  unexpected 
beauty.  Olympus  Pump,  Esq.,  in  the  “ Charcoal  Sketches,” 
wishes  that  some  prosaic  mortal  would  invent  an  idea-catcher, 
as  he  thinks  it  would  be  useful.  When  an  idea  flits  through 
your  mind  catch  it  if  you  can.  Pope  called  up  Lord  Oxford’s 
servants  four  times  in  one  night  and  asked  for  paper,  in  order 
that  he  might  not  lose  a thought.  At  all  hours  Voltaire  kept  by 
his  bed  or  at  his  table  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  that  he  might  write 
down  any  thing  that  occurred  to  him. 

There  has  been  preserved  a memorandum  of  Dr.  Johnson’s, 
containing  hints  for  his  life  of  Pope.  These  hints  he  wrote 
down  as  he  read  and  reflected,  and  afterward  he  used  them  in 
writing.  I will  give  a few  specimens:  “ Nothing  occasional. 
No  haste.  No  rivals.  No  compulsion.  Practiced  only  one 
form  of  verse.  Facility  from  use.  Emulated  former  pieces. 
He  had  always  some  poetical  plan  in  his  head.  Echo  to  the 
sense.  Extreme  sensibility.  Ill-health,  headaches.  He  never 
laughed.  Six  lines  of  Iliad.” 

Sheridan  meditated  a comedy  on  the  subject  of  Affectation. 
Moore  has  given  the  memoranda  made  by  Sheridan,  and  from 
this  we  may  learn  his  process.  I can  give  but  a few  specimens : 

An  affectation  of  Business. 

“ “ of  Accomplishments. 

“ “ of  Love  of  Letters  and  Wit. 

“ “ of  Love  of  Music. 

“ “ of  Intrigue. 

“ “ of  Sensibility. 

66  66  of  Vivacity 

“ “ of  Silence  and  Importance. 

“ “ of  Modesty. 

“ “ of  Profligacy. 

<<  “ of  Moroseness. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION.  6 1 

Character — Mr.  Bustle. 

A man  who  delights  in  hurry  and  interruption — will  take  any  one’s 

business  for  them — leaves  word  where  all  his  plagues  may  follow  him 

governor  of  all  hospitals,  etc. — Share  in  Ranelagh — speaker  every  where, 
from  the  vestry  to  the  House  of  Commons — “I  am  not  at  home — gad, 
now  he  heard  me,  and  I must  be  at  home” — Here  am  I so  plagued,  and 
there  is  nothing  I love  so  much  as  retirement  and  quiet — “You  never  sent 
after  me  ” — Let  servants  call  in  to  him  with  such  a message  as  “ ’Tis  noth- 
ing but  the  window-tax,”  he  hiding  in  a room  that  communicates.  He 
does  not  in  reality  love  business,  only  the  appearance  of  it.  “Ha!  ha! 
did  my  Lord  say  I was  always  very  busy?  What,  plagued  to  death?” 

Among  these  hints  is  the  celebrated  passage  which,  in  its 
improved  form,  he  used  against  Mr.  Dundas  in  the  House  of 
Commons : “ He  certainly  has  a great  deal  of  fancy  and  a good 
memory;  but  with  a perverse  ingenuity  he  employs  those  qual- 
ities as  no  other  person  does — for  he  employs  his  fancy  in  his 
narratives,  and  keeps  his  recollections  for  his  wit — when  he 
makes  his  jokes  you  applaud  the  accuracy  of  his  memory,  and 
’t  is  only  when  he  states  his  facts  that  you  admire  the  flights  of 
his  imagination.’ ’ When  this  idea  was  ready  for  use  it  was  in 
the  following  compact  form : “ The  right  honorable  gentleman 
is  indebted  to  his  memory  for  his  jests  and  to  his  imagination 
for  his  facts.” 

Do  not  be  satisfied  with  an  important  idea  as  it  first  presents 
itself.  Seize  the  Proteus,  and  hold  on  till  he  assumes  his  proper 
shape.  In  the  “Memorials  of  Thomas  Hood”  is  given  a fac- 
simile of  the  original  manuscript  of  the  “Song  of  the  Shirt.” 
Here  we  are  enabled  to  see  the  efforts  of  the  poet  to  work  out 
his  idea.  The  germ  of  one  stanza  is  as  follows : In  one  line  is 
“Work,  work,  work;”  in  the  next  line  is  nothing  but  the  word 
“Speed;”  then  follow  two  lines — 

That  works  for  a daily  feed — 

Nor  time  a tear  to  shed. 

In  another  stanza  we  find  in  the  first  line  “O  but;”  then  the 
three  following  lines — 


62 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


That  give  the  soul  relief, 

A little  leisure  for  love  and  hope 
Or  only  time  for  grief. 

What  force,  by  a little  change,  is  given  to  this  idea  in  the 
completed  poem — 

No  blessed  leisure  for  love  or  hope, 

But  only  time  for  grief. 

In  the  original  crude  form  the  seamstress  has  still  left  to  her  at 
least  the  image  of  love  and  hope;  but  in  the  other  she  has 
abandoned  all  hope,  and  asks  for  nothing  but  an  hour  of  unin- 
terrupted grief. 

Men  seem  naturally  inclined  to  think  that  works  of  genius 
have  been  produced  without  labor.  A passage  in  a work  pub- 
lished soon  after  the  death  of  Thackeray,  entitled  “ Thackeray 
the  Humorist  and  the  Man  of  Letters,”  shows  how  men  may 
be  deceived.  In  this  volume  the  author,  Theodore  Taylor, 
says:  “Page  after  page  of  that  small  round  hand  would  be 
written  by  him  absolutely  — for  he  rarely  altered  his  first 
draughts  in  any  way — without  interlineation,  blot,  or  blemish 
of  any  kind.”  In  another  part  of  the  same  volume  Dickens 
says:  “The  condition  of  the  little  pages  of  manuscript  where 
Death  stopped  his  hand  shows  that  he  had  carried  them  about 
and  often  taken  them  out  of  his  pocket  here  and  there  for 
patient  revision  and  interlineation.” 

I will  bring  these  remarks  to  a close  with  a quotation  from 
Akenside — 

By  degrees  the  mind 

Feels  her  young  nerves  dilate ; the  plastic  powers 

Labor  for  action;  blind  emotions  heave 

His  bosom ; and  with  loveliest  frenzy  caught, 

From  earth  to  heaven  he  rolls  his  dancing  eye, 

From  heaven  to  earth.  Anon  ten  thousand  shapes, 

Like  spectres  trooping  to  the  wizard’s  call, 

Flit  swift  before  him.  From  the  womb  of  earth, 

From  ocean’s  bed  they  come;  the  eternal  heavens 
Disclose  their  splendors,  and  the  dark  abyss 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  COMPOSITION. 


63 


Pours  out  her  births  unknown.  With  fixed  gaze 
He  marks  the  rising  phantoms.  Now  compares 
Their  different  forms ; now  blends  th.em,  now  divides, 
Enlarges  and  extenuates  by  turns; 

Opposes,  ranges  in  fantastic  bands, 

And  infinitely  varies.  Hither  now, 

Now  thither  fluctuates  his  inconstant  aim, 

With  endless  choice  perplexed.  At  length  his  plan 
Begins  to  open.  Lucid  order  dawns ; 

And  as  from  chaos  old  the  jarring  seeds 
Of  Nature  at  the  voice  divine  repaired 
Each  to  its  place,  till  rosy  earth  unveiled 
Her  fragrant  bosom,  and  the  joyful  sun 
Sprung  up  the  blue  serene;  by  swift  degrees 
Thus  disentangled,  his  entire  design 
Emerges.  Colors  mingle,  features  join, 

And  lines  converge:  the  fainter  parts  retire; 

The  fairer  eminent  in  light  advance; 

And  every  image  on  its  neighbor  smiles. 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


MY  subject  is  bulls;  but  you  need  not  fear  that  I am  about 
to  deliver  an  agricultural  address.  I am  not  going  to 
speak  of  the  bull  that  broke  into  the  china-shop  and  exhibited 
his  playful  disposition  amongst  the  crockery;  nor  of  the  Pope’s 
bulls  which  have  made  such  havoc  of  ecclesiastical  crockery. 
I do  not  intend  to  speak  of  the  bulls  which  furnish  such  refined 
amusement  to  the  hidalgoes  of  Spain;  nor  of  the  bulls  that 
have  such  terrible  struggles  with  the  bears  in  the  stock-market. 
I shall  avoid  being  carried  off  from  my  subject  by  the  bull  that 
carried  off  Europa;  and  the  golden  fleece  shall  not  entice  me 
to  encounter  the  fire-breathing  bulls  of  ^Eetes.  I am  not  about 
to  describe  the  “ Bulls  of  Bashan,”  which  rioted  in  the  rich 
pastures  of  trans-Jordanic  Palestine;  nor  of  the  bulls  that  roar 
and  paw  the  ground  in  the  fertile  meadows  of  England.  I am 
not  about  to  treat  of  the  comparative  excellences  of  the  breeds 
of  Durham,  Alderney,  and  Ayrshire,  of  long-horned  and  short- 
horned; nor  of  John  Bull  himself,  who  walks  among  the  herds 
with  his  ample  proportions  and  red  face,  the  greatest  bull  of 
them  all. 

As  I have  dealt  sufficiently  in  negatives,  I will  now  come  to 
the  positive,  and  inform  you  that  I am  about  to  treat  of  the  bull 
of  bulls,  the  bos  taurissimus , vulgarly  called  the  Irish  bull.  A 
great  many  have  attempted  definitions  of  this  bull,  but  few  per- 
sons are  satisfied  with  any  of  them.  After  I have  given  some 
specimens  I will  attempt  a definition  or  description. 

(64) 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


65 


Miss  Edgeworth  and  her  father  wrote  an  Essay  on  Irish 
Bulls,  half  humorous,  half  serious,  the  object  of  which  is  to 
show  that  this  bull  is  not  a native  of  Ireland,  at  all  at  all . 
They  begin  with  Paddy  Blake’s  echo:  “Faith,”  said  he,  when 
a gentleman  was  speaking  of  the  echo  at  the  Lake  of  Killarney 
which  repeats  itself  forty  times,  “ faith,  that ’s  nothing  at  all  to 
the  echo  in  my  father’s  garden  in  the  county  of  Galway;  if 
you  say  to  it,  4 How  do  you  do,  Paddy  Blake  ? ’ it  will  answer, 
4 Pretty  well,  I thank  you,  sir.’  ” They  show  that  there  is  some- 
thing like  it  in  Bacon’s  Natural  History. 

A gentleman  was  writing  a letter  in  a coffee-house,  when  an 
Irishman  took  the  liberty  of  looking  over  him.  The  gentleman 
concluded  his  letter  thus : 44 1 would  say  more,  but  a great  tall 
Irishman  is  reading  over  my  shoulder  every  word  I write.” 
44 You  lie,  you  scoundrel!”  exclaimed  the  Irishman.  This  bull 
they  trace  to  an  Oriental  origin. 

I will  quote  a few  more  of  the  bulls  which  they  mention. 
The  following  was  pronounced  by  Lord  Orford  the  best  bull  he 
had  ever  heard : 44  4 1 hate  that  woman,’  said  a gentleman,  look- 
ing at  one  who  had  been  his  nurse,  4 1 hate  that  woman,  for  she 
changed  me  at  nurse.’  ” 

44 Have  you  any  brothers  and  sisters?”  was  a question  put 
to  little  Dominick  at  school.  44 No;  I wish  I had;  perhaps 
they  would  love  me  and  not  laugh  at  me,”  said  Dominick  with 
tears  in  his  eyes;  44 but  I have  no  brothers  but  myself.” 

Two  Irishmen,  having  traveled  on  foot  from  Chester  to 
Barnet,  were  confoundedly  fatigued  by  their  journey;  and  the 
more  so  when  they  were  told  that  they  had  still  about  ten  miles 
to  go.  44  By  my  shoul  and  St.  Patrick,”  said  one  of  them,  44  it 
is  but  five  miles  apiece.” 

44  How  many  years  have  you  been  dumb?”  said  a gentleman 
to  a beggar  who  pretended  to  be  dumb.  44  Five  years  last  St. 
John’s  eve,  please  your  honor.” 

44 1 am  sorry  to  hear  my  honorable  friend  stand  mute,”  said 
an  Irish  orator. 


6 


66 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


“ This  house  will  stand  as  long  as  the  world,  and  longer,” 
said  an  Irish  mason. 

“When  I first  saw  you,”  said  an  Irishman  on  meeting  an 
acquaintance,  “ I thought  it  was  you ; but  now  I see  it  is  your 
brother.” 

When  Sir  Richard  Steele  was  asked  how  it  happened  that 
his  countrymen  made  so  many  bulls,  he  replied:  “It  is  the 
effect  of  climate,  sir;  if  an  Englishman  were  born  in  Ireland, 
he  would  make  as  many.” 

An  Irishman  declared  that  no  English  hen  ever  laid  a fresh  egg. 

“That’s  an  incomparable,  an  inimitable  picture,”  said  a 
Hibernian  connoisseur;  “it  is  absolutely  more  like  than  the 
original.” 

“ How  are  you,  my  gay  fellow?”  said  an  Irishman  to  a pugil- 
ist who  had  had  an  eye  knocked  out.  “ Can  you  see  at  all  with 
the  eye  that ’s  out?” 

“I  hate  cats;  and  if  I had  been  the  English  minister,  I 
would  have  laid  the  dog-tax  upon  cats.” 

When  there  were  great  illuminations  for  a peace  that  had 
just  been  made  an  Irishman  stepped  up  to  a crowd  that  was 
standing  before  a house  illuminated  with  extraordinary  splen- 
dor. He  inquired  whose  the  house  was,  and  was  informed  that 
it  belonged  to  a contractor  who  had  made  an  immense  fortune 
by  the  war.  “ Then  I am  sure,”  said  he,  “ that  these  illumina- 
tions of  his  for  the  peace  are  none  of  the  most  sincere.  If 
this  contractor  had  illuminated  in  character,  it  should  have 
been  with  dark  lanterns.” 

An  Irishman  ordered  a painter  to  draw  his  picture  and  to 
represent  him  standing  behind  a tree. 

Another  bought  a pound  of  chocolate  to  make  tea  of. 

A dealer  in  flax  had  violated  one  of  the  regulations  at  a fair 
and  was  pleading  ignorance.  “I  gave  you  notice,”  said  the 
officer,  “ at  the  fair  of  Edgerstown,  that  it  was  contrary  to  law.” 
“I  ax  yer  pardon,  sir,”  replied  the  offender;  “it  was  not  me — 
it  was  my  brother;  for  I was  standing  by  and  heard  it.” 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


67 


Among  practical  bulls  is  mentioned  the  anecdote  of  the 
Irishmen  who,  having  a spite  against  a certain  banker,  got 
possession  of  as  many  of  his  notes  as  they  could  and  burned 
them,  thus  relieving  him  from  the  necessity  of  redeeming  them. 
The  Edgeworths  regard  no  Irish  practical  bull  as  so  absurd  as 
one  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who  after  he  had  made  a large  hole 
in  his  study-door  for  his  cat  to  creep  through  made  a smaller 
hole  to  accommodate  the  kitten. 

In  the  course  of  the  Essay  the  authors  present  many  English 
bulls  to  counterbalance  the  Irish,  introducing  even  Shakespeare 
and  Milton. 

The  English  poet  Blackmore  says — 

A painted  vest  Prince  Vortigern  had  on, 

Which  from  a naked  Piet  his  grandsire  won. 

The  title  of  an  English  advertisement  of  a washing-machine 
was,  “ Every  man  his  own  washer-woman.” 

On  the  walls  of  an  English  coffee-house  was  this  notice: 
“This  coffee-house  removed  up  stairs.” 

A correspondent  of  the  English  Royal  Society  speaks  of 
“ the  earthquake  that  had  the  honor  to  be  noticed  by  the  Royal 
Society.” 

There  was  once  the  following  inscription  on  an  English 
finger-post — 

Had  you  seen  these  roads  before  they  were  made, 

You ’d  lift  up  your  eyes  and  bless  Marshal  Wade. 

Speaking  of  Satan,  Milton  says — 

God  and  his  Son  except, 

Created  thing  naught  valued  he  nor  feared. 

which,  logically  interpreted,  makes  God  and  his  Son  created 
things. 

Milton  is  also  accused  of  a bull  in  the  following  imitation  of 
the  Greek  idiom : 

Adam,  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  born, 

His  sons;  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve. 


68 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


As  Milton  professed  to  write  English  and  not  Greek,  it  is 
something  like  a bull  for  him  to  use  a form  which  represents 
Adam  as  one  of  his  own  sons,  and  Eve  as  her  own  daughter, 
just  as  truly  as  little  Dominick  represented  himself  as  his  own 
brother. 

Other  passages  from  different  authors  are  humorously  intro- 
duced— passages  which  are  poetical  but  not  logical,  such  as 
that  passage  of  Pope: 

When  first  young  Maro  in  his  noble  mind 
A work  to  outlast  immortal  Rome  designed. 

At  the  end  of  the  Essay  is  given,  as  an  appendix,  a collec- 
tion of  foreign  bulls  furnished  by  a French  man  of  letters. 
Among  them  are  the  following: 

An  abbe  of  Laval  Montgomery  was  asked  what  was  the  age 
of  his  younger  brother,  the  marshal.  “In  two  years/5  replied 
he,  “we  shall  be  of  the  same  age.55 

The  king  was  to  be  present  at  the  observation  of  an  eclipse. 
M.  de  Jonville  said  to  M.  Cassini:  “Shall  we  not  wait  for  the 
king  before  beginning  the  eclipse?55 

A man  saw  coming  toward  him  a physician  who  had 
attended  him  during  an  attack  of  illness  many  years  before. 
He  turned  and  concealed  his  face,  that  he  might  not  be  recog- 
nized. When  asked  the  reason  he  said,  “ I am  ashamed  to  see 
him  because  it  is  so  long  since  I was  sick.55 

A man  who  wished  to  sell  a horse  was  asked  if  the  horse 
was  easily  frightened.  “O!  not  at  all,55  said  he;  “he  has  just 
passed  several  nights  in  his  stable  all  alone.55 

A father  reproached  his  son  with  ingratitude.  “ I am  under 
no  obligations  to  you,55  said  the  son;  “if  you  had  not  been 
born,  I should  have  been  the  heir  of  my  grandfather.55 

A man,  seeing  a boat  so  deeply  laden  that  the  edge  was 
nearly  on  a level  with  the  water,  exclaimed,  “Heavens!  if  the 
river  were  a little  higher,  the  boat  would  go  to  the  bottom.55 

It  was  related  in  conversation  that  M.  de  Buffon  had  dis- 
sected one  of  his  female  cousins,  and  a lady  cried  out  against 


CONCERNING  BULLS.  69 

the  inhumanity  of  the  anatomist.  “But,  madame,  she  was 
dead,”  said  M.  de  Mairan. 

Some  persons  were  speaking  with  admiration  of  the  beauti- 
ful old  age  of  a man  ninety  years  old,  when  one  said : “ That 
astonishes  you,  gentlemen;  but  my  father,  if  he  had  not  died, 
would  be  now  a hundred  years  old.” 

A lover,  having  written  to  his  mistress,  slipped  the  note 
under  the  door;  but  afterward  thinking  it  might  escape  her 
notice,  he  placed  under  the  door  another  note  containing  these 
words:  “I  have  put  a note  under  your  door;  look  for  it  as  you 
go  out.” 

A man  who  had  an  only  daughter  said  to  a suitor:  “No,  sir; 
if  I had  a hundred  only  daughters,  you  should  not  have  one  of 
them.” 

A merchant  while  writing  a letter  suddenly  died.  His  clerk 
added  as  a postscript : “ Since  I wrote  the  preceding  I died  this 
morning.” 

A retail  merchant  pretended  that  he  had  paid  three  shillings 
for  what  he  was  selling  for  two.  “ Such  trading  will  ruin  you,” 
said  one.  “ O,  I save  myself  by  the  quantity  I sell,”  replied 
the  merchant. 

It  is  evident  that  the  writers  of  this  Essay  had  never  seen 
the  “Jests  of  Hierocles,”  a work  more  than  a thousand  years 
old,  and  written  in  venerable  Greek.  In  the  work  of  Hiero- 
cles, Scholastikos,  which  means  a pedant,  takes  the  place  of  the 
Irishman  in  modern  times;  and  I remember  that  at  college  we 
were  sometimes  guilty  of  the  anachronism  of  translating  lyco- 
hiGTv/.o'-  an  Irishman.  I will  present  some  of  the  jests  or  bulls, 
both  verbal  and  practical;  from  which  you  will  see  that  some 
of  the  bulls  attributed  to  Irishmen  are  very  old,  if  not  tough. 

Scholastikos,  meeting  his  physician,  apologized  for  not  hav- 
ing been  sick. 

Scholastikos  said  to  his  brother  Scholastikos : “ I saw  you  in 
a dream  last  night  and  spoke  to  you.”  “ Pardon  me,”  said  the 
other,  “for  not  having  returned  your  salutation.” 


7o 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


Scholastikos,  going  into  the  water,  came  near  being  drowned. 
He  then  swore  that  he  would  never  touch  water  till  he  had 
learned  to  swim. 

Scholastikos,  being  in  Greece,  received  a letter  in  which 
the  writer  requested  Scholastikos  to  buy  some  books  for  him. 
When  after  his  return  he  met  his  friend  he  said,  “The  letter 
which  you  wrote  to  me  about  the  books  I did  not  receive.” 
Being  about  to  cross  a river,  he  went  into  the  ferry-boat  on 
horseback.  Being  asked  why  he  did  so,  he  said,  “ I am  in  haste.” 
One  of  two  twins  having  died,  Scholastikos,  meeting  the 
survivor,  said,  “Was  it  you  that  died  or  your  brother?” 

Being  in  a ship  which  was  about  to  sink,  while  the  passen- 
gers were  seizing  different  articles  to  keep  themselves  up, 
Scholastikos  seized  the  anchor. 

Having  heard  that  crows  live  more  than  two  hundred  years, 
Scholastikos  bought  one  to  try. 

Meeting  an  acquaintance,  Scholastikos  said:  “I  heard  that 
you  were  dead.”  “But  you  see  that  I am  alive.”  “But  the 
man  that  informed  me  was  more  worthy  of  belief  than  you  are.” 
Seeing  some  sparrows  on  a tree,  Scholastikos  slipped  up  to 
the  tree,  held  out  his  basket,  and  shook  the  tree. 

Having  purchased  a cask  of  wine,  Scholastikos  sealed  the 
top  of  it;  but  a servant  bored  a hole  in  the  bottom,  and  drew 
out  wine  as  he  wished  it.  The  master  was  very  much  surprised 
to  see  the  wine  wasting  away  while  the  seal  remained  unbroken. 
A friend  advised  him  to  examine  the  bottom.  “But,”  said  he, 
“ it  is  wasting  at  the  top,  not  at  the  bottom.” 

Wishing  to  see  how  he  looked  when  he  was  asleep,  Scholas- 
tikos went  to  a mirror  and  shut  his  eyes. 

Wishing  to  sell  a house,  Scholastikos  carried  a stone  around 
as  a sample. 

Wishing  to  teach  his  horse  to  do  without  eating,  Scholastikos 
gradually  reduced  the  amount  of  food  till  the  horse  died.  He 
considered  himself  very  unfortunate;  “for,”  said  he,  “just  as 
he  had  learned  to  do  without  eating  he  died.” 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


71 


I will  now  give  you  a few  samples  of  bulls  of  Louisville 
production : 

A lady  was  conversing  with  another  who  said  in  the  course 
of  conversation  that  she  had  had  the  yellow  fever  three  times. 
“And  did  you  recover?” 

A lady  inquired,  “ Is  this  the  last  of  this  month  or  the  first 
of  next?” 

A lady  who  was  sick  inquired  of  her  husband  what  time  it 
was.  When  he  had  told  her  she  began  to  look  at  the  watch  very 
intently.  “Why  are  you  looking  at  the  watch?”  said  he;  “I 
told  you  the  time.”  “ But,”  said  she,  “ I am  trying  to  see  what 
time  it  was  a little  while  ago.” 

At  the  time  of  the  appearance  of  a beautiful  aurora  borealis 
her  husband  hastened  into  the  house  to  tell  her  of  it.  “ Have 
you  seen  the  magnificent  aurora?”  said  he.  “Why,  no,”  said 
she;  “I  thought  it  was  very  light  for  so  dark  a night.” 

Though  these  samples  show  that  bulls  are  not  confined  to 
Ireland,  yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  they  flourish  on  the  green 
of  the  Emerald  Isle.  I have  just  heard  of  one  of  an  Irish 
schoolmaster,  who  set  the  following  “copy”  for  one  of  his 
pupils:  “Idleness  clothes  a man  with  nakedness.” 

When  Barney  O’Reirdon  on  board  of  a ship  had  slept  a day 
and  a night,  even  through  a terrible  thunder-storm,  the  captain 
expressed  his  admiration  of  Barney’s  “power  of  sleep.”  “O,” 
said  Barney,  “ when  I sleeps  I pays  attintion  to  it.” 

But  Sir  Boyle  Roche,  a member  of  the  Irish  House  of  Com- 
mons when  Ireland  had  a parliament  of  her  own,  is  preeminent 
among  the  bull-makers.  Like  Jupiter,  he  has  no  second;  like 
Richter,  he  is  der  einzige , the  only. 

In  one  of  his  flights  of  oratory  he  said,  “ I would  give  up  half, 
nay,  the  whole  of  the  constitution  to  preserve  the  remainder.” 

In  a letter  describing  the  dreadful  condition  of  things  around 
him  he  wrote,  “You  may  judge  of  our  state  when  I tell  you 
that  I write  this  with  a sword  in  one  hand  and  a pistol  in  the 
other,” 


72 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


“Admiral  Howe,”  said  he  at  another  time,  “will  sweep  the 
French  fleet  off  the  face  of  the  earth.” 

He  denounced  an  apostate  politician  who  “ turned  his  back 
upon  himself.” 

“Sir,”  said  he,  addressing  the  speaker  of  the  Irish  House 
of  Commons,  “I  smell  a rat:  I see  him  floating  in  the  air;  but, 
mark  me,  I shall  nip  him  in  the  bud.” 

When  some  persons  were  enlarging  upon  the  benefits  which 
posterity  would  derive  from  certain  measures  he  replied,  “ I 
do  n’t  see,  Mr.  Speaker,  why  we  should  put  ourselves  out  of 
the  way  to  serve  posterity.  What  has  posterity  ever  done  for 
us?”  A laugh  being  the  natural  result  of  this,  he  explained, 
“ By  posterity,  sir,  I do  n’t  mean  our  ancestors,  but  those  who 
are  to  come  immediately  after  them.” 

Intending  to  be  very  polite  to  a noble  lord,  he  said : “ I hope, 
my  lord,  if  you  ever  come  within  a mile  of  my  house,  you  will 
stay  there  all  night.” 

He  had  ordered  a shoemaker  to  make  him  a pair  of  shoes, 
one  larger  than  the  other.  When  he  went  to  put  them  on  he 
became  very  indignant.  “ I ordered  you,  sir,  to  make  one  shoe 
larger  than  the  other,  and  you  have  made  one  smaller  than  the 
other — the  very  opposite.” 

A bull  has  been  defined  to  be  “a  laughable  confusion  of 
ideas,”  which  is  too  indefinite  for  a definition.  What  produces 
this  confusion?  I attribute  it  to  an  excessive  development  of 
the  power  of  abstraction  and  generalization,  the  power  of  which 
makes  the  poet  and  the  man  of  science.  The  poet  sees  a 
resemblance  between  two  objects  and  produces  a metaphor, 
the  points  in  which  the  objects  differ  being  left  out  of  view. 
The  man  of  science  generalizes  his  facts,  the  power  of  abstrac- 
tion enabling  him  to  separate  the  points  of  resemblance  from 
the  points  of  difference.  The  man  who  makes  a bull  differs 
from  the  man  who  makes  a science  and  the  man  who  makes  a 
poem  merely  in  abstracting  rather  too  much.  A lady  says  to 
her  friend,  “I  have  had  the  yellow  fever  three  times.”  The 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


73 


mind  of  the  friend  immediately  becomes  occupied  with  a scien- 
tific theory.  She  inquires  within  herself  whether  it  is  possible 
for  any  one  to  have  the  yellow  fever  three  times  and  recover. 
So  intently  is  she  engaged  in  the  examination  of  this  point  that 
she  loses  sight  of  every  thing  around  her,  even  of  the  lady  who 
is  speaking  to  her,  and  asks  the  scientific  question,  “ Did  you 
recover  ?”  the  word  you  representing  to  her  not  the  person 
before  her,  but  the  general  idea  of  a human  being. 

I will  close  by  saying  a few  words  on  the  subject  of  confu- 
sion of  metaphors.  This  is  a species  of  bull,  though  it  may 
not  have  received  that  name.  I will  give  a few  examples  of 
mixed  metaphors.  “ Young  gentlemen/’  said  a professor  to  a 
class  of  graduates  in  the  Louisville  Medical  College,  “ young 
gentlemen,  you  are  about  to  embark  on  a new  field  of  labor.” 
“They  will  have  dry  sailing,”  remarked  a young  lady  in  the 
assembly. 

“The  proposition  was  like  a fire-brand  in  the  meeting,  and 
threw  cold  water  on  all  the  proceedings.” 

“He  was  in  an  ocean  of  difficulties  and  surrounded  by 
mountains  of  troubles.” 

“He  was  between  the  horns  of  a dilemma  and  could  not 
see  his  way  out.” 

“Though  he  was  comparatively  on  a bed  of  ease,  he  was 
still  climbing  the  steeps  of  fame.” 

“ This  was  the  apple  of  discord  which  expanded  into  such 
an  ocean  of  confusion.” 

Every  one  sees  the  absurdity  of  such  expressions;  but  some 
have  undertaken  to  defend  the  use  of  mixed  metaphors  because 
Shakespeare  says  “take  arms  against  a sea  of  troubles.”  Gar- 
rick defended  it;  and  Hackett  becomes  enthusiastic  on  the 
subject.  Now  Shakespeare  was  a mortal  man,  and  if  he  had 
not  made  some  mistakes  I should  never  forgive  him.  He  ought 
to  be  defended  against  hypercriticism;  but  to  regard  every 
thing  he  wrote  as  absolutely  perfect  and  the  foundation  of  a 
rule  of  criticism  is  carrying  devotion  rather  too  far.  When  a 

7 


74 


CONCERNING  BULLS. 


writer  employs  two  incongruous  metaphors  in  connection  it  is 
evident  that  one  or  the  other  is  not  employed  by  him  as  a 
metaphor.  The  essence  of  the  metaphor  is  comparison.  In  a 
comparison  between  two  things  both  the  one  and  the  other 
must  be  before  the  mind.  If  the  idea  of  the  sea  as  a sea  had 
been  before  Shakespeare’s  mind,  he  would  not  have  spoken  of 
opposing  it  by  arms.  The  word  sea , as  used  in  this  passage, 
represented  to  him  merely  a great  number,  and  not  the  waves 
of  ocean.  To  say  that  he  at  the  same  time  thought  of  the 
waves  of  the  sea  and  opposition  by  arms  involves  an  absurdity. 
There  are  no  arms  to  oppose  the  sea,  except,  perhaps,  the  arms 
of  Mrs.  Partington,  who  attempted  to  sweep  out  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  with  a broom.  Mr.  Hackett  says : “As  4 from  the  full- 
ness of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,’  so  it  may  be  natural  to 
a richly-endowed  poetical  genius  to  be  apt  to  indulge  in  a pro- 
fusion even  unto  redundancy  occasionally,  and  the  breaking 
unavoidably  sometimes,  or  a mixing  of  metaphors.”  This  is 
all  nonsense.  It  can  not  be  natural  to  any  one,  whether  richly 
endowed  or  not,  to  mix  two  things  which  are  inconsistent  with 
each  other.  If  a man  has  the  ordinary  idea  of  an  elephant  in 
his  mind,  no  rich  endowment  can  enable  him  to  associate  it 
with  the  idea  of  flying.  When  Sir  Boyle  Roche  said,  44 1 smell 
a rat;  I see  him  floating  in  the  air;  but,  mark  me,  I will  nip 
him  in  the  bud,”  it  is  evident  that  he  had  no  idea  of  a rat  in 
his  mind.  No  endowment,  however  rich,  could  enable  him  to 
think  of  nipping  a rat  in  the  bud.  He  merely  made  use  of 
some  metaphorical  expressions  which  had  lodged  in  his  mem- 
ory. They  were  not  metaphors  to  him.  But  expressions 
originally  metaphorical  may  come  into  common  use  to  denote 
certain  ideas  and  lose  their  metaphorical  character.  The  word 
sea , for  instance,  may  be  used  to  denote  a great  number  without 
reference  to  the  ocean.  The  passage  in  Shakespeare  can  be 
defended  on  this  ground  only. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


FTER  the  perusal  of  Irving’s  Life  of  Goldsmith,  we  feel 


that  justice  has  been  done  to  the  Author  of  “The  De- 
serted Village”  and  “The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.”  The  literary 
merits  of  Goldsmith  it  required  the  malignant  meanness  of  a 
Kerrick  to  decry;  but  to  make  his  personal  character  the  sub- 
ject of  unfeeling  jests  has  been  fashionable.  We  owe  a debt 
of  gratitude  to  the  American  Goldsmith  for  a true  portrait  of 
one  who  would  not  have  disdained  to  call  him  brother. 

We  will  not  now  attempt  to  speak  of  Goldsmith’s  literary 
character.  His  works  are  in  the  list  of  the  world’s  classics.  His 
poems  the  world  has  by  heart.  Every  one  who  has  gone 
beyond  the  school-reader  has  read  and  felt  “The  Traveller” 
and  “The  Deserted  Village.”  The  simple  and  effective  style, 
the  beautiful  imagery,  the  noble  sentiments,  are  appreciated  at 
all  times  and  in  all  countries.  No  change  of  schools  in  poetry 
has  diminished  Goldsmith’s  fame.  He  spoke  to  the  human 
race,  and  the  human  race  understands  him.  There  is  nothing 
in  his  works  to  excite  the  stormy  passions.  It  is  to  the  gentle 
feelings  that  he  appeals.  His  poems  are  like  landscapes,  full 
of  quiet  beauty  and  grace,  where  the  tree  bends  calmly  over 
the  water,  and  sees  a sky  below  as  unbroken  as  the  sky  above; 
while  over  the  whole  is  spread  the  gentle  pensiveness  of  Indian 
summer.  His  prose  works  are  written  in  a style  which,  in 
graceful  freedom  and  transparency,  can  scarcely  be  surpassed, 
and  are  full  of  exquisite  delineations  of  character,  sound  obser- 
vations on  life,  the  most  delicate  humor,  and  the  kindest  feel- 


(75) 


7 6 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ings.  “ Few  works,”  says  one  of  his  biographers,  referring  to 
“The  Citizen  of  the  World,”  “exhibit  a nicer  perception  or 
more  delicate  delineation  of  life  and  manners.  Wit,  humor, 
and  sentiment  pervade  every  page;  the  vices  and  follies  of  the 
day  are  touched  with  the  most  playful  and  diverting  satire,  and 
English  characteristics  in  endless  variety  are  hit  off  with  the 
pencil  of  a master.”  He  even  made  abridgements  of  history 
delightful  and  natural  history  as  entertaining  “as  a Persian 
tale.”  According  to  the  inscription  on  his  monument  in  West- 
minster Abbey  — one  inscription  that  tells  the  truth  — he  left 
scarcely  any  style  of  writing  untouched,  and  touched  none  that 
he  did  not  adorn:  “ Qui  nullum  fere  scribendo  genus  non  tetigit , 
nullum  quod  tetigit  non  ornavit .” 

It  is  said  that  when  Bennett  Langton  made  his  first  visit  to 
Johnson  he  had,  from  perusing  his  writings,  “expected  to  find 
him  a decent,  well-dressed,  in  short  a remarkably  decorous 
philosopher.  Instead  of  which,  down  from  his  bed-chamber 
about  noon  came,  as  newly-risen,  a large,  uncouth  figure,  with 
a little  dark  wig  which  scarcely  covered  his  head,  and  his 
clothes  hanging  loosely  about  him.”  It  is  seldom  that  the 
appearance  of  distinguished  men  corresponds  to  our  expec- 
tations. But  we  do  not  know  of  any  author  whose  external 
appearance  and  conduct  were  so  well  calculated  to  disappoint 
the  readers  of  his  works  as  were  those  of  Oliver  Goldsmith. 
His  works  give  you  the  idea  of  a most  polished  gentleman, 
kind-hearted,  indeed,  but  extremely  shrewd — of  one  whom  you 
would  not  think  of  attempting  to  deceive.  You  imagine  him 
dressed  in  the  most  perfect  manner,  in  which  no  part  of  the 
dress  excites  particular  observation,  but  the  whole  conveys  an 
inexpressible  idea  of  becomingness.  You  expect  to  find  one 
who  manages  his  affairs  in  so  judicious  a manner  that  all  goes 
on  smoothly. 

But  he  who  became  personally  acquainted  with  Goldsmith, 
after  having  formed  such  ideas  of  the  man,  was  egregiously 
disappointed.  There  was  his  little,  plain  person,  decked  in  a 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


77 


fantastic  manner.  A bailiff  perhaps  was  entering  the  door 
while  a sturdy  beggar  was  walking  off  with  the  money  which 
should  have  discharged  the  debt.  He  might  have  been  per- 
ceived cursing  his  credulity  which  had  just  been  imposed  upon 
by  one  successful  deceiver  and  pawning  his  clothes  for  the 
benefit  of  another.  With  respect  to  worldly  thrift,  there  was 
nothing  but  wisdom  in  his  mouth  and  nothing  but  folly  in  his 
conduct.  The  visitor  could  almost  imagine  the  mysterious 
union  of  two  persons  in  the  same  body — a man  to  think  and 
speak  and  a child  to  act.  It  seemed  as  if  some  charm  pre- 
vented his  true  nature  from  manifesting  itself  in  action — as  if 
the  thought,  starting  from  his  brain  like  an  Oberon,  was  in  its 
passage  to  action  changed  into  a Puck. 

But  this  character,  with  all  its  strange  contradictions,  was 
one  which  all  but  the  envious  man  and  the  fool  were  forced  to 
love.  When  he  died  in  the  midst  of  his  difficulties,  the  feelings 
of  his  acquaintances  burst  forth  in  that  expressive  exclamation, 
“ Poor  Goldsmith ! 55 — an  exclamation  in  which  pity  for  his  fail- 
ings was  overbalanced  by  affection  for  his  virtues. 

The  principal  charges  that  have  been  made  against  Gold- 
smith are  the  charges  of  improvidence  and  vanity.  That  he 
was  improvident  is  too  manifest,  and  a severe  penalty  did  he 
pay  for  the  fault.  He  was  led  to  incur  debts  which  pressed 
upon  him  continually  and  at  last  crushed  him  to  the  earth. 
But  we  believe  that  he  never  entertained  a dishonest  intention 
during  his  whole  life.  His  “ knack  at  hoping  ” led  him  into 
innumerable  difficulties.  When  he  was  about  to  incur  some 
debt  Hope  pointed  to  abundant  sources  of  revenue  and  over- 
whelmed Reason  with  her  volubility.  The  kindness  of  heart 
from  which  a great  part  of  his  carelessness  with  regard  to 
money  proceeded  affords  some  palliation  for  his  faults.  He 
felt  so  much  of  the  distress  of  the  miserable  that  he  found  it 
impossible  to  resist  the  inclination  to  relieve  them.  Even  while 
at  college  his  benevolent  feelings  led  him  into  difficulty.  The 
following  story  shows  his  disposition.  He  was  doing  the  same 
thing  in  different  forms  all  his  life, 


78 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


He  was  engaged  to  breakfast  one  day  with  a college  inti- 
mate, but  failed  to  make  his  appearance.  His  friend  repaired 
to  his  room,  knocked  at  the  door,  and  was  bidden  to  enter.  To 
his  surprise  he  found  Goldsmith  in  his  bed,  immersed  to  his 
chin  in  feathers.  A serio-comic  story  explained  the  circum- 
stances. In  the  course  of  the  preceding  evening’s  stroll  he  had 
met  with  a woman  with  five  children,  who  implored  his  charity. 
Her  husband  was  in  the  hospital;  she  was  just  from  the 
country,  a stranger,  and  destitute,  without  food  or  shelter  for 
her  helpless  offspring.  This  was  too  much  for  the  kind  heart 
of  Goldsmith.  He  was  almost  as  poor  as  herself,  it  is  true, 
and  had  no  money  in  his  pocket;  but  he  brought  her  to  the 
college-gate,  gave  her  the  blankets  from  his  bed  to  cover  her 
little  brood  and  part  of  his  clothes  for  her  to  sell  and  purchase 
food;  and,  finding  himself  cold  during  the  night,  had  cut  open 
his  bed  and  buried  himself  among  the  feathers. 

Poor  Goldsmith  was  buried  in  feathers  the  greater  part  of 
his  life.  While  he  was  immersed  in  feathers  to  keep  himself 
warm  if  another  sufferer  had  come  to  him  with  a piteous  tale, 
he  would  have  given  up  the  feathers  too.  He  was  totally  inca- 
pable of  resisting  an  appeal  to  his  charitable  feelings.  Crowds 
of  the  needy  surrounded  him.  He  would  pawn  his  property 
to  raise  money  for  them.  On  one  occasion  the  poor  woman 
whom  he  owed  for  the  hire  of  his  apartment  entered  his  room 
and  told  a piteous  tale  of  distress,  her  husband  having  been 
arrested  in  the  night  for  debt  and  thrown  into  prison;  his  feel- 
ings were  so  excited  that  he  sent  off  to  the  pawn -broker  a 
borrowed  suit  of  clothes  and  raised  money  enough  to  release 
his  landlord  from  prison.  His  answer  to  Griffiths,  who  had 
lent  him  the  suit  and  who  threatened  him  with  the  jail,  is  a 
most  affecting  outpouring  of  despondency.  “ Sir,”  says  he,  “ I 
know  no  misery  but  a jail  to  which  my  own  imprudence  and 
your  letter  seem  to  point.  I have  seen  it  inevitable  for  these 
three  or  four  weeks,  and  by  heavens ! request  it  as  a favor — as 
a favor  that  may  prevent  something  more  fatal.  I have  been 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


79 


some  years  struggling  with  a wretched  being — with  all  that  con- 
tempt that  indigence  brings  with  it — with  all  those  passions  that 
make  contempt  insupportable.  What,  then,  has  a jail  that  is 
formidable?  . . . . No,  sir,  had  I been  a sharper,  had  I 

been  possessed  of  less  good  nature  and  native  generosity,  I 

might  surely  now  have  been  in  better  circumstances.  I am 
guilty,  I own,  of  meannesses  which  poverty  unavoidably  brings 
with  it;  my  reflections  are  filled  with  repentance  for  my  impru- 
dence, but  not  with  any  remorse  for  being  a villain : that  may 
be  a character  you  unjustly  charge  me  with.” 

Poor  Goldsmith  was  conscious  of  his  own  imprudence,  and 
generosity  was  so  natural  to  him  that  he  did  not  think  of  it 

as  a palliation.  He  was  able  even  to  give  good  advice  on  the 

subject  of  prudence,  and  knew  all  the  maxims  of  thrift.  In  a 
letter  to  his  brother  Henry,  speaking  of  the  education  of  his 
nephew,  he  makes  the  following  remarks,  which  are  as  prudent 
as  could  well  be  imagined:  “ Teach,  then,  my  dear  sir,  to  your 
son  thrift  and  economy.  Let  his  poor  wandering  uncle’s  exam- 
ple be  placed  before  his  eyes.  I had  learned  from  books  to  be 
disinterested  and  generous  before  I was  taught  from  experience 
the  necessity  of  being  prudent.  I had  contracted  the  habits 
and  notions  of  a philosopher  while  I was  exposing  myself  to 
the  approaches  of  insidious  cunning;  and  often  by  being,  even 
with  my  narrow  finances,  charitable  to  excess.  I forgot  the 
rules  of  justice,  and  placed  myself  in  the  very  position  of  the 
wretch  who  thanked  me  for  my  bounty.  When  I am  in  the 
remotest  part  of  the  world  tell  him  this,  and  perhaps  he  may 
improve  by  my  example.  ” 

Fortunately  prudence  is  not  the  only  virtue  in  the  world. 
If  it  were  so,  Goldsmith  would  have  been  the  most  incorrigible 
wretch  that  ever  breathed.  But  this  man,  who  was  so  harassed 
with  pecuniary  difficulties,  could  not  be  induced  by  any  pros- 
pect of  gain  to  swerve  from  his  principles  or  give  up  his  ipde-; 
pendence.  If  his  room  had  been  filled  with  bailiffs — if  starvation 
or  the  jail  had  frowned  upon  him  wherever  he  turned  his  eyes, 


8o 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


they  could  not  have  driven  him  from  his  principles.  Those 
who  considered  money  the  great  god  were  astonished  at  his 
childish  simplicity  in  this  respect.  Instances  of  his  firmness  of 
principle  were  related  as  excellent  jokes  by  those  who  could 
scarcely  find  words  to  express  their  virtuous  abhorrence  of  his 
imprudent  generosity.  While  he  was  literally  living  from  hand 
to  mouth,  one  Parson  Scott,  who  had  received  two  fat  livings 
for  his  political  subserviency,  was  deputed  to  engage  him  in  the 
support  of  Lord  North’s  administration.  The  parson  made 
what  he  considered  a “good  story”  out  of  his  embassy.  “I 
found  him,”  said  he,  “in  a miserable  suite  of  chambers  in  the 
Temple.  I told  him  my  authority.  I told  him  I was  empow- 
ered to  pay  most  liberally  for  his  exertions.  And,  would  you 
believe  it!  he  was  so  absurd  as  to  say,  4 1 can  earn  as  much  as 
will  supply  my  wants  without  writing  for  any  party;  the  assist- 
ance you  offer  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  me.’  And  so  I left 
him  in  his  garret!”  High-minded  parson!  We  can  imagine 
the  sublime  contempt  with  which  “ the  round,  fat,  oily  man  of 
God”  looked  upon  the  miserable  sinner  before  him — “And  so 
I left  him  in  his  garret!”  How  Parson  Scott’s  eyes  twinkled 
as  he  related  this  story!  No  doubt  he  told  it  again  and  again, 
and  considered  that  he  had  performed  his  part  of  the  entertain- 
ment when  he  had  got  through  with  it.  When  the  wise  ones 
called  for  “Parson  Scott’s  good  story,”  how  complacently  he 
sat  shaking  his  laurels  as  the  bursts  of  uproarious  laughter 
pealed  around  him! 

Sir  John  Hawkins  relates  another  exceedingly  “good  story.” 
The  Earl  of  Northumberland,  who  then  held  the  office  of  Lord 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  was  willing  to  extend  to  Goldsmith  the 
patronage  which  his  high  post  afforded.  Sir  John  was  at 
Northumberland  House  when  the  poet  made  his  appearance. 
He  waited  in  the  outer  room  to  learn  the  result  of  the  visit. 
Goldsmith,  on  coming  out,  told  him  that,  in  reply  to  the 
gracious  offers  of  assistance,  he  had  mentioned  the  situation  of 
his  brother,  who  stood  in  need  of  help.  “Thus,”  exclaims  Sir 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


John,  “did  this  idiot  in  the  affairs  of  the  world  trifle  with  his 
fortunes,  and  put  back  the  hand  that  was  held  out  to  assist 
him!”  The  lawyer  was  as  unfortunate  as  the  parson  in  the 
attempt  to  understand  this  singular  idiot,  who  thought  of  others 
more  than  he  did  of  himself. 

We  will  give  another  instance  of  his  idiocy.  Previous  to 
the  publication  of  the  “Deserted  Village ” the  bookseller  gave 
him  a note  for  the  price  agreed  upon — one  hundred  guineas. 
As  he  was  on  his  way  home  he  met  an  acquaintance,  to  whom 
he  related  the  circumstance.  The  gentleman  thought  this  was 
a very  large  sum  for  so  small  a poem.  “ In  truth,”  said  Gold- 
smith, “I  think  so  too;  it  is  much  more  than  the  honest  man 
can  afford,  or  the  piece  is  worth.  I have  not  been  easy  since  I 
received  it.”  The  idiot  actually  returned  the  note  to  the  book- 
seller, and  left  him  to  graduate  the  payment  according  to  the 
success  of  the  work.  Such  idiocy  is  not  very  common  in  the 
world,  and  men  were  astounded  at  such  displays  of  it.  As 
there  is  not  much  danger  of  so  great  an  increase  in  the  number 
of  such  idiots  as  to  render  them  a public  burden,  we  should  be 
glad  to  have  a few  more  of  them.  Goldsmith  was  called  “ an 
inspired  idiot” — we  wish  his  acquaintances  had  had  the  grace 
to  consider  such  idiocy  the  gift  of  inspiration. 

We  now  come  to  the  other  charge  against  Goldsmith — the 
charge  of  vanity.  This  charge  was  made  particularly  by  that 
vainest  of  the  vain,  James  Boswell,  whose  jaundiced  eye  saw 
every  thing  in  a yellow  light.  He  seems  to  have  been  an 
ardent  believer  in  the  doctrine  to  which  Carlyle  refers — that 
need  and  greed  and  vainglory  are  the  chief  qualities  of  man- 
kind, and  that  whatever  can  not  be  referred  to  the  categories 
of  need  and  greed  is  without  scruple  ranged  under  that  of  vain- 
glory. Goldsmith  had  need  enough,  it  is  true;  but  as  he  was 
totally  destitute  of  greed,  Boswell  thought  that  an  extraordinary 
number  of  his  actions  was  to  be  attributed  to  vainglory.  The 
peacock  who  was  so  vain  in  regard  to  dress  that,  after  having 
been  at  court,  he  went  to  the  printing-office  with  his  trappings 


82 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


and  summoned  all  the  printer’s  devils  to  admire  him,  accuses 
Goldsmith  of  displaying  vanity  in  dress!  Mr.  Irving,  with 
kind-hearted  good  sense,  attributes  his  apparent  vanity  to 
another  feeling.  “ This  proneness  to  finery  in  dress,”  says  he, 
“which  Boswell  and  others  of  Goldsmith’s  contemporaries,  who 
did  not  understand  the  secret  plies  of  his  character,  attributed 
to  vanity,  arose,  we  are  convinced,  from  a widely  different 
motive.  It  was  from  a painful  idea  of  his  own  personal  defects, 
which  had  been  cruelly  stamped  upon  his  mind  in  his  boyhood 
by  the  sneers  and  jeers  of  his  playmates,  and  had  been  ground 
deeper  into  it  by  rude  speeches  made  to  him  in  every  step  of 
his  struggling  career,  until  it  had  become  a constant  cause  of 
awkwardness  and  embarrassment.  This  he  had  experienced 
more  sensibly  since  his  reputation  had  elevated  him  into  polite 
society;  and  he  was  constantly  endeavoring  by  the  aid  of  dress 
to  acquire  that  personal  acceptability , if  we  may  use  the  phrase, 
which  nature  had  denied  him.  If  ever  he  betrayed  a little  self- 
complacency  on  first  turning  out  in  a new  suit,  it  may  perhaps 
have  been  because  he  felt  as  if  he  had  achieved  a triumph  over 
his  ugliness.”  He  goes  on  to  speak  of  circumstances  existing 
at  the  time  of  which  he  is  treating,  which  may  have  rendered 
Goldsmith  more  than  usually  attentive  to  his  personal  appear- 
ance. He  had  become  acquainted  with  the  beautiful,  sprightly, 
intelligent,  and  agreeable  Miss  Hornecks,  and  was  inspired 
with  tender  feelings  toward  the  younger,  who  went  by  the  name 
of  the  “J^essamy  Bride.”  “Alas,  poor  Goldsmith!”  exclaims 
Mr.  Irving,  “ how  much  of  this  silken  finery  was  dictated,  not 
by  vanity,  but  by  humble  consciousness  of  thy  defects;  how 
much  of  it  was  to  atone  for  the  uncouthness  of  thy  person,  and 
to  win  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jessamy  Bride!”  A slight 
personal  defect  caused  Byron  to  hate  his  fellow-men;  in  Gold- 
smith the  consciousness  of  personal  defect  led  to  a well-meant 
effort  to  remove  its  effects. 

But  Boswell  represents  Goldsmith  as  “strutting  about  and 
bragging  of  his  dress,”  It  is  easy  to  see  that,  on  the  occasion 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


83 


to  which  Boswell  alludes,  Goldsmith  was  indulging  his  humor, 
of  which  he  possessed  a great  share.  Such  a fool  as  Boswell 
was  incapable  of  understanding  Goldsmith. 

We  will  give  two  other  instances  of  what  the  incorrigible 
dunce  considers  displays  of  vanity.  He  went  with  the  Miss 
Hornecks  to  France.  While  stopping  at  a hotel  in  Lisle,  they 
were  drawn  to  the  windows  by  a military  parade  in  front.  The 
extreme  beauty  of  the  Miss  Hornecks  immediately  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  officers,  who  broke  forth  with  enthusiastic 
speeches  and  compliments  intended  for  their  ears.  Goldsmith 
was  amused  for  a while,  but  at  length  affected  impatience  at 
this  exclusive  admiration  of  his  beautiful  companions,  and 
exclaimed  with  mock  severity,  “ Elsewhere  I also  would  have 
my  admirers.”  It  required  a Boswell  to  construe  this  into  an 
evidence  of  mortified  vanity.  On  another  occasion  he  went 
with  Burke  to  witness  the  performances  of  some  puppets. 
When  Burke  praised  the  dexterity  with  which  one  of  them 
tossed  a pike,  “Pshaw,”  said  Goldsmith,  with  some  warmth , 
according  to  Boswell,  “ I can  do  it  better  myself.”  “ The  same 
evening,”  adds  this  prince  of  fools,  “he  broke  his  shin  by 
attempting  to  exhibit  to  the  company  how  much  better  he 
could  jump  over  a stick  than  the  puppets.”  Well  did  Johnson 
describe  Boswell  as  a fellow  who  had  missed  his  only  chance 
of  immortality  by  not  having  been  alive  when  the  “Dunciad” 
was  written.  It  is  true  he  gained  immortality  in  a way  not 
expected  by  Johnson;  but  his  work  is  like  treason  — we  are 
pleased  with  the  thing  itself,  but  despise  the  author.  He  was 
so  anxious  to  be  “written  down  an  ass”  that,  in  the  absence  of 
the  sexton,  he  wrote  it  down  himself. 

Croker,  in  his  notes  to  Boswell,  relates  an  occurrence  which 
has  been  considered  a ludicrous  display  of  Goldsmith’s  vanity. 
It  was  related  to  Croker  by  Colonel  O’ Moore,  of  Cloghan 
Castle,  in  Ireland,  who  was  a party  concerned.  The  Colonel 
and  Burke,  walking  one  day  through  Leicester  Square  on  their 
way  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  with  whom  they  were  to  dine, 


84 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


observed  Goldsmith,  who  was  likewise  to  be  a guest,  standing 
and  regarding  a crowd  which  was  staring  and  shouting  at  some 
foreign  ladies  in  the  window  of  a hotel.  “ Observe  Goldsmith,” 
said  Burke  to  O’ Moore,  “and  mark  what  passes  between  us  at 
Sir  Joshua’s.”  They  passed  on  and  arrived  there  before  him. 
Burke  received  Goldsmith  with  affected  reserve  and  coldness. 
Being  pressed  to  explain  the  reason,  “ Really,”  said  he,  “ I am 
ashamed  to  keep  company  with  a person  who  could  act  as  you 
have  just  done  in  the  Square.”  Goldsmith  protested  he  was 
ignorant  of  what  was  meant.  “ Why,”  said  Burke,  “ did  you  not 
exclaim,  as  you  were  looking  up  at  those  women,  what  stupid 
beasts  the  crowd  must  be  for  staring  with  such  admiration  at 
those  painted  Jezebels,  while  a man  of  your  talents  passed  by 
unnoticed?”  “Surely,  surely,  my  dear  friend,”  cried  Gold- 
smith, with  alarm,  “surely  I did  not  say  so?”  “Nay,”  replied 
Burke,  “if  you  had  not  said  so,  how  should  I have  known  it?” 
“That’s  true,”  answered  Goldsmith;  “I  am  very  sorry — it  was 
very  foolish;  I do  recollect  that  something  of  the  kind  passed 
through  my  mind , hut  I did  not  think  that  I had  uttered  it .” 
Now  this  proves  nothing  in  the  world  but  Goldsmith’s  child- 
like simplicity  of  character.  He  was  unsuspicious  of  a trick, 
and  could  be  made  to  believe  almost  any  thing.  We  do  believe 
the  thoughts  no  more  passed  through  his  mind  than  the  words 
passed  from  his  lips.  But  his  mind,  having  no  suspicion  of 
deception,  was  seeking  a cause  for  the  effect  before  him,  and 
could  find  no  other  explanation  than  that  he  must  have  spoken 
the  words  and  thought  the  thoughts.  When  a man,  in  a very 
earnest  manner,  insists  that  you  do  know  some  particular  per- 
son, you  will  begin  to  think  you  do  know  him,  though  you 
have  never  seen  him  in  your  life.  If  water  is  thrown  upon  the 
face  of  a sleeping  man,  his  mind  goes  to  work  to  invent  a 
cause.  He  dreams  that  he  sees  clouds  gathering  slowly  in  the 
west.  They  become  gradually  thicker  and  darker.  At  last 
they  approach,  the  whole  heaven  is  overspread,  and  the  rain 
pours  down  in  torrents  upon  his  head.  All  this  is  dreamed  in 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


85 


the  very  moment  of  waking.  The  sleeper  dreams  of  a storm 
to  account  for  the  water  on  his  face.  We  believe  that  Gold- 
smith’s thoughts  were  as  imaginary  as  the  sprinkled  sleeper’s 
clouds.  Burke  threw  water  in  his  face,  and  his  mind  invented 
an  explanation. 

The  little  peculiarities  of  Goldsmith  never  impaired  the 
affection  of  his  friends.  The  same  Burke  that  had  amused 
himself  with  tricks  upon  his  simplicity  burst  into  tears  when 
he  heard  of  his  death.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  threw  by  his 
pencil  and  grieved  more  than  he  had  done  in  times  of  great 
family  distress.  Johnson  felt  the  blow  deeply  and  gloomily. 
The  object  of  such  affection  must  have  had  a noble  soul.  We 
feel  that  we  could  have  clasped  such  a man  to  our  bosom  and 
loved  him  with  all  his  debts.  A Goldsmith  is  not  given  to  us 
every  day.  Let  us  love  his  virtues  and  forget  his  failings. 


HOME  AND  SCHOOL.” 


44  TT  MM  A,  who  was  it  that  was  walking  with  you  to  school 

1 v this  morning?"  said  Alice  Melville  to  her  schoolmate 
Emma  Thorndyke. 

“Oh,  that  was  young  Mr.  Knottslowe!  He  is  continually 
watching  for  me,  and  takes  every  opportunity  to  walk  with  me 
to  school." 

“Why  do  you  permit  him  to  do  so,  Emma?" 

“Why,  how  can  I help  it?  I can’t  drive  him  away,  can  I? 
Do  you  wish  me  to  be  rude?" 

“Well,  Emma,  I don’t  wish  to  set  myself  up  as  a monitor; 
but  if  you  wish  to  know  my  opinion  I will  give  it  to  you." 

“Well,  Alice,  I should  like  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say 
about  it." 

“Why,  then,  Emma,  have  you  ever  shown  that  you  objected 
to  his  walking  to  school  with  you?" 

“No;  I do  n’t  know  that  I ever  have.  How  could  I do  so?" 

“ It  is  very  easy  for  you  to  do  so,  and  without  being  guilty 
of  rudeness  either.  If  he  could  not  be  made  to  understand 
you  in  any  other  way,  you  could  tell  him  candidly  that  you 
consider  it  improper  for  him  to  walk  with  you  to  school.  If  he 
has  any  sense,  he  could  take  no  offense  at  it.  But  I think  you 
have  encouraged  him  by  your  actions,  showing  him  that  you  do 
not  consider  his  course  improper." 

“Well,  I don’t  consider  it  improper.  What  harm  is  there 
in  it?" 


(86) 


HOME  AND  SCHOOL. 


*7 

“ Ah,  that  is  another  question.  But  I think  you  can  answer 
it  yourself.  Does  Mr.  Knottslowe  walk  like  a man  up  to  the 
door  of  the  school-room  with  you  ? Or  does  he  not  stop  before 
he  comes  in  sight  of  the  school-room?  As  I was  coming  up 
behind  you  this  morning  I heard  Mr.  Knottslowe  say,  ‘Well,  I 
must  stop  here,  or  old  Smith  will  see  me ! ’ Did  he  not  show 
that  he  considered  himself  as  doing  something  not  right?  And 
if  you  had  believed  him  to  be  doing  what  was  altogether  proper, 
you  would,  I think,  have  urged  him  to  go  on.” 

“ O ! but  Mr.  Smith  does  not  understand  these  things ! He 
does  n’t  know  that  young  people  like  to  be  in  each  other’s  com- 
pany, and  he  turns  up  his  nose  at  it.” 

“On  the  contrary,  Emma,  I have  heard  him  say  that  he 
considers  it  natural  for  boys  and  girls  to  wish  to  be  together, 
and  he  has  always  shown  a disposition  to  encourage  their  meet- 
ing on  proper  occasions  and  in  a proper  way.  He  says  what 
he  objects  to  is  the  habits  and  manners  of  the  precocious  young 
ladies  and  young  gentlemen,  as  they  call  themselves.  This  is 
what  he  turns  up  his  nose  at.  He  says  he  considers  simplicity 
one  of  the  most  lovely  things  in  the  young,  and  that  when  he 
sees  girls  losing  their  simplicity,  and  ‘putting  on  airs’  in  the 
company  of  ‘ young  gentlemen,’  he  loses  confidence  in  them. 
He  told  Mr.  Williamson  the  other  day  that  Lizzie  Williamson, 
though  one  of  the  oldest  girls  in  school,  was  one  of  the  most 
childlike,  and  that  he  considered  this  the  greatest  compliment 
he  could  pay  her.  But  I declare,  I am  beginning  to  talk  like 
‘old  folks.’  However,  I am  merely  repeating  the  remarks  of 
other  people.  Suppose  we  speak  to  Mr.  Smith  about  it  to-day.” 
“ O ! no,  Alice ! I would  n’t  speak  to  him  about  it  for  the 
world.  He  would  be  as  mad  as  a whole  nest  of  hornets.” 

“ I think,  Emma,  you  are  very  much  mistaken  about  ‘ Old 
Smith,’  as  Mr.  Knottslowe  calls  him.  I believe  he  likes  noth- 
ing so  much  as  straightforward  candor.  I have  often  heard 
him  say  he  can  overlook  every  thing  but  deception.  But  if  you 
are  unwilling  to  speak  to  him  on  this  subject,  there  is  one  that 


88 


HOME  AND  SCHOOL. 


you  can  speak  to;  and  that  is  your  mother.  I have  heard 
mamma  say  she  considered  your  mother  one  of  the  most  sen- 
sible women  in  the  world.” 

The  reader  may  be  surprised  to  learn  that  these  sober  words 
were  spoken  by  one  who,  on  proper  occasions,  was  one  of  the 
most  laughing,  romping  girls  in  Mr.  Smith’s  school.  She  had 
as  much  judgment  as  if  she  had  not  a particle  of  fun,  and  as 
much  fun  as  if  she  had  not  a particle  of  judgment.  But  neither 
character  was  ever  out  of  place.  She  had  a delicate  sense  of 
propriety,  and  nothing  could  induce  her  to  swerve  from  what 
she  considered  right.  Emma  Thorndyke  was  not  a girl  of  bad 
intentions;  but  her  perceptions  of  the  becoming  were  not  so 
acute  as  those  of  Alice.  Her  love  of  admiration  made  her 
inclined  to  be  “ fast.”  Her  moral  nature  was  strong  when  her 
love  of  admiration  suffered  it  to  act.  But  there  was  a hard 
struggle.  In  the  present  instance  she  was  at  first  unwilling  to 
speak  to  her  mother,  as  Alice  had  suggested;  but  when  she  had 
thought  about  the  matter  for  some  time  her  better  nature  pre- 
vailed, and  she  became  convinced  by  Alice’s  remarks  that  her 
unwillingness  to  speak  to  her  mother  showed  that  there  was 
something  very  wrong  in  her  conduct. 

In  reply  to  Emma  her  mother  said,  “My  daughter,  I am 
glad  that  you  have  consulted  me  about  this  matter;  for  I have 
perceived  an  unpleasant  change  to  be  taking  place  in  your 
character.  You  are  not  the  same  unaffected  girl  that  you  used 
to  be.  I have  seen  you  make  use  of  unworthy  arts  to  attract 
admiration.  That  lovely  simplicity  which  is  the  greatest  charm 
of  girlhood  is  in  danger  of  being  destroyed.  It  is  your  wish  to 
attract  admiration  which  causes  the  boys  to  follow  you  through 
the  streets.  If  it  were  not  for  this  love  of  admiration  your  own 
innate  modesty  would  be  offended  by  their  conduct.  You  will 
find  that  every  parent  has  the  same  feeling  upon  this  subject. 
I heard  a lady  tell  her  daughter  the  other  day  that  she  wished 
her  to  break  off  her  acquaintance  with  another  girl,  ‘ because,’ 
said  she,  ‘I  see  her  every  day  accompanied  by  some  boy  or 


HOME  AND  SCHOOL. 


other  on  her  way  to  school,  and  I do  n’t  wish  you  to  be  intimate 
with  such  fast  young  ladies.’  I hope,  Emma,”  continued  Mrs. 
Thorndyke,  “that  you  will  keep  in  mind  that  the  business  of 
your  life  now  is  to  attend  to  the  improvement  of  your  mind, 
and  not  to  entertain  beaux.  And  remember,  too,  that  the 
proper  kind  of  admiration  is  gained,  not  by  the  arts  of  affec- 
tation or  by  precocious  young-ladyism,  but  by  simple,  natural 
manners  suited  to  your  age.” 

Just  at  this  point  Emma’s  father  entered  the  room,  and  on 
inquiry  was  made  acquainted  with  the  state  of  things.  Being 
a rather  impetuous  sort  of  man,  he  was  about  to  storm  a little, 
but  a look  from  Mrs.  Thorndyke’s  mild  eye  calmed  him.  She 
said,  “ I think  Emma  will  now  change  her  conduct.  She  has 
shown  herself  a dutiful  child  by  coming  to  me,  and  I think  she 
had  better  not  be  scolded.” 

“I  was  not  going  to  scold  her,”  replied  Mr.  Thorndyke, 
“but  I wished  to  express  my  contempt  for  the  puppies  that 
follow  school-girls  about  when  they  ought  to  be  attending  to 
their  own  business.  If  one  of  my  boys  were  to  act  so,  I would 
take  his  puppy-skin  off  him — I would.  Those  are  the  boys  that 
make  our  worthless,  good-for-nothing,  do-nothing  men.  The 
boys  that  are  to  make  the  real  men  of  our  country  are  engaged 
in  study  or  other  business  while  these  scamps  are  watching  for 
school-girls  in  the  streets.  If  I were  a police-officer,  I would 
flog  every  rascal  that  I saw  following  a school-girl  about,  and  if 
he  resisted  I would  hang  him  to  a lamp-post,  law  or  no  law.” 

aO!  come,  husband,”  said  Mrs.  Thorndyke,  who  knew  how 
to  manage  her  husband’s  moods,  “such  doings  at  the  lamp-post 
would  be  no  light  matter.  It  is  mere  thoughtlessness  in  the  boys, 
and  they  do  n’t  deserve  so  severe  a punishment.  Think  how 
unpleasant  it  would  be  to  see  a boy  hanging  to  each  lamp-post.” 

“At  any  rate,”  said  Mr.  Thorndyke,  laughing  at  his  own 
violence,  “the  boys  ought  to  be  taught  to  know  better.” 

“Well,  husband,  there  is  some  difference  between  that  and 
hanging.” 


8 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


**  ORTINBRAS!  You  sound  the  sf  I have  always 


heard  that  word  pronounced  fortinbrah.  Why  do  you 
sound  the  s?” 

44  Because  Shakespeare  did.” 

“ Because  Shakespeare  did!  How  do  you  know  that?” 

“ Fortinbras,  you  know,  is  composed  of  three  words,  fort,  in , 
and  bt'as,  arm.  Now  turn  to  Shakespeare’s  4 King  Henry  V.’ 
In  Act  iv,  Sc.  4,  you  will  find  that  Pistol  has  taken  a French- 
man prisoner.  Pistol,  understanding  nothing  of  the  French- 
man’s language,  seizes  upon  such  words  as  sound  like  some 
English  words.  When  the  prisoner  asks,  Est  il  impossible  E 
eschapper  la  force  de  ton  bras  ? 4 Brass,  cur ! ’ exclaims  Pistol. 

4 Thou  damned  and  luxurious  mountain-goat,  offer’ st  me  brass!’ 
44  Pistol  would  not  have  made  this  exclamation  if  the  French- 
man had  said  la  force  de  ton  brah.  It  is  evident  therefore  that 
Shakespeare  pronounced  the  name  of  his  Norwegian  Strong-in- 
arm Fortinbrass , not  Fortinbrah.  And  Shakespeare  was  right. 
Originally  the  ^ in  bras  was  sounded  by  the  French.  Littre  in 
his  great  dictionary  says,  4 Dans  1’  ancien  frangais  le  nominatif 
est  bras , le  regime  est  brae.  C’  est  le  nominatif  qui  a forme  le 
mot  actuel;  de  la  vient  Y s que  nous  y mettons.’*  When  the 
form  brae , derived  from  the  Latin  brachium , was  changed  to 
bras  the  ^ was  not  a mere  ornament;  it  represented  a sound. 

* In  the  ancient  French  the  nominative  is  bras,  and  the  objective  is  brae.  It 
is  the  nominative  that  has  formed  the  present  word;  from  that  comes  the  ^ which 
we  put  in  it. 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


91 


Some  seem  to  regard  the  omission  of  the  sound  of  the  final 
consonant  as  an  elementary  principle  of  the  French  language; 
but  it  was  only  by  degrees  that  the  sound  was  dropped,  just  as 
it  was  by  degrees  that  the  sound  of  e final  was  dropped  in 
English  words.  The  Anglo-Saxons  sounded  the  e in  every 
case;  in  Chaucer  e at  the  end  of  words  sometimes  makes  a 
syllable  and  sometimes  is  mute;  the  sound  passed  away  gradu- 
ally. The  verbal  termination  ed  formerly  made  a syllable  in 
every  case;  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare  it  sometimes  made  a 
syllable  and  sometimes  did  not;  in  our  day  it  never  makes  a 
syllable  except  when  the  verb  ends  with  a sound  which  can  not 
unite  with  that  of  d;  or  if  a poet  wishes  to  have  this  termina- 
tion make  a syllable,  he  must  indicate  his  wish  by  some  mark. 

“Not  long  ago  the  French  l mouille  was  sounded,  the  word 
tailleur , for  instance,  being  pronounced  talyur ; in  Paris  this 
word  is  now  pronounced  tahyur , the  sound  of  / having  been 
gradually  dropped.  In  some  parts  of  France,  no  doubt,  the 
l is  still  sounded.  A French-speaking  hackney-coachman  in 
Brussels  once  asked  me  if  I did  not  wish  to  go  the  Bwahce 
( Bois ) de  la  Cambre.  I have  no  doubt  that  he  would  have 
sounded  the  ^ in  bras.  The  title  of  one  of  the  Erckman-Chat- 
rian  novels  is  often  pronounced  Blocu;  the  proper  pronunciation 
is  Blocus , with  the  ^ sounded.  The  French  word  for  lily,  Us,  is 
pronounced  leece , though  the  sound  of  the  s is  dropped  in  fleur- 
de-lis.  But  formerly  the  s was  sounded  in  fleur-de-lis , as  is 
shown  in  the  fact  that  the  French  wits  applied  to  the  order  of 
the  Fleur-de-Lys  the  double  entendre  of  Compagnons  d’  Ulysse , or 
Companions  of  Ulysses,  meaning  the  swine  into  which  the 
companions  of  Ulysses  were  transformed.  A well-educated 
French  gentleman  in  Louisville  pronounces  the  name  of  a cel- 
ebrated French  writer  Dumas s,  not  Dumah;  and  he  says  that 
he  has  been  where  members  of  the  family  live,  and  that  there 
the  name  is  always  pronounced  Dumass.  A gentleman  who 
was  introduced  to  the  younger  Dumas  in  Paris  told  me  that  at 
the  introduction  the  name  was  pronounced  Dumah;  so  the 


92 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


sound  of  the  s has  been  gradually  dropped.  I will  continue  to 
pronounce  the  Norwegian's  name  Fortinbrass , as  Shakespeare 
pronounced  it." 

“ Then  I suppose  you  pronounce  the  name  of  the  hero  of 
Butler’s  poem  Hudibrass , not  HudibrahV ’ 

“ Certainly  I do,  as  Butler  himself  did." 

aHow  do  you  know  that  Butler  pronounced  it  so?" 

“ Look  at  this  passage : 

As  Montaigne,  playing  with  his  cat, 

Complains  she  thought  him  but  an  ass, 

Much  more  she  would  Sir  Hudibras. 

If  you  change  Hudibras  to  Hudibrah , you  will  have  to  change 
ass  to  ah  /" 

“We  shall  next  hear  you  sound  the  ^ in  the  name  of  Le 
Sage’s  Spanish  adventurer." 

“ If  you  ever  hear  me  pronounce  the  name,  you  will  hear 
me  sound  the  s.  There  is  the  new  illustrated  edition  of  Web- 
ster’s Dictionary:  look  in  the  4 Vocabulary  of  the  Noted  Names 
of  Fiction,’  etc.,  and  see  how  Gil  Bias  is  pronounced  there." 

44  Here  it  is,  pronounced  Zheel  Blass.  Now  we  are  on  Span- 
ish ground,  do  you  pronounce  the  name  of  Cervantes’s  hero 
Quixote  or  KehotayV ’ 

44 Quixote , with  the  English  sound  of  the  letters." 

44  But  it  is  a Spanish  name,  and  it  is  pronounced  Kehotay  by 
the  Spaniards." 

44 Yes;  and  Paris  is  a French  name,  and  it  is  pronounced 
Paree  by  the  French;  and  Mexico  is  a Spanish  name,  and  it  is 
pronounced  Mehheco  by  the  Spaniards.  I should  as  soon  think 
of  pronouncing  Paris  and  Mexico  Paree  and  Mehheco  as  I 
should  think  of  pronouncing  Don  Quixote  Don  Kehotay.  These 
words  have  been  anglicized,  and  it  would  be  pedantic  to  give 
them  the  foreign  pronunciation.  The  attempt  to  change  the 
name  of  our  old  favorite  is  a Kehotic  attempt.  Sooner  than 
come  down  to  Don  Kehotay  I believe  I could  even  bring 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


93 


myself  to  call  a wind  a wind , to  which  desperate  act  I hope 
no  distressing  circumstances  will  ever  drive  me.” 

“ Why,  do  you  not  pronounce  the  word  wind  when  you  are 
reading  poetry  ?” 

“No.  Why  should  I do  so?  Men  have  agreed  to  call  a 
certain  thing  a wind , and  you  might  as  well  call  it  a ventus  as  a 
wind.  If  people  hear  of  a ventus  or  a wind , they  have  in  either 
case  to  translate  the  word  to  wind  before  they  understand  what 
is  meant.” 

“But  it  must  be  pronounced  wind  in  order  to  rhyme  with 
kind  and  other  words  ending  in  ind  .” 

“ Then  you  must  suppose  that  Rosalind  read  Orlando’s  love- 
verses  in  the  following  pleasing  style : 

From  the  east  to  western  Ind  (ined), 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosa lind. 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind , 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosa lind. 

All  the  pictures,  fairest  lined. 

Are  but  black  to  Rosa/zW. 

Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind 
But  the  fair  of  Rosa  lind. 

You  seem  to  forget  that  poets  use  ‘imperfect  rhymes.’  There 
is  the  ‘ Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.’  Open  it,  and  you  will  find 
at  the  very  beginning  borne  rhyming  with  morn , gone  with 
throne , poor  with  door , God  with  rode.  Because  a stranger  filled 
the  Stuart’s  throne  shall  we  say, 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone? 

Here  is  ‘ Maud  Muller.’  Let  us  read  a few  couplets,  making 
the  rhymes  perfect, 

And  I ’d  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor , 

And  all  should  bless  me  who  left  our  door. 

So,  closing  his  heart,  the  judge  went  on , 

And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone. 

No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs , 

Nor  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues. 


94  PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 

The  old  proverb  says  that  ‘he  that  eats  with  the  devil  should 
have  a long  spoon ;’  but  I have  never  seen  it  stated  that  law- 
yers have  need  of  endless  tongs.  I will  read  these  two  lines 
of  Emerson: 

To  those  who  go  and  those  who  come — 

Good-by,  proud  world!  I ’m  going  home  (hum). 

Listen  to  a few  lines  of  ‘Alexander’s  Feast’: 

Deserted  in  his  utmost  need , 

By  those  his  former  bounty  fed, 

’T  was  but  a kindred  sound  to  move , 

For  pity  melts  the  soul  to  love. 

It  would  be  proper  punishment  for  the  winders  to  yell  out  to 
them  in  the  same  style  all  their  favorite  poems.  While  I have 
the  floor  let  me  tell  you  another  thing.  Wind  was  originally 
pronounced  with  the  i short,  as  it  is  now  in  German.  The 
sound  of  a crept  in  gradually  before  the  i in  words  ending  in 
ind ; for  the  sound  of  i is  diphthongal,  being  composed  of  the 
sounds  of  a as  in  ah  and  of  i lengthened  into  i as  in  machine . 
I think  that  Skakespeare  pronounced  kind  with  the  i short. 

A little  more  than  kin  and  less  than  kind. 

When  kind  was  pronounced  kind  (short  i)  there  was  a play 
upon  the  words,  and  this  play  gave  to  the  passage  whatever 
significance  it  had;  with  the  present  pronunciation  all  the  sig- 
nificance is  lost.  In  ‘Piers  Ploughman’  we  find  ‘and  unkynde 
to  hur  kynne,’  which  evidently  means  unkinned  (unkind)  to 
their  km,  the  y having  the  same  sound  in  kynde  that  it  has  in 
kynne.  Kind  derives  its  present  signification  from  its  being  of 
the  same  origin  with  kin.” 

“What  would  be  thought  of  a clergyman  who  should  say, 
‘The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth ’ ? He  would  render  him- 
self ridiculous.  The  lawyer  who  should  say  in  court,  ‘The 
damage  was  caused  by  the  wind ’ would  be  laughed  at  by  judge 
and  jury.  If  a physician  should  order  his  patient  to  be  kept 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


95 


out  of  the  wind , he  would  add  to  the  sickness  of  the  sick  and 
make  several  other  persons  sick.  If  a gentleman  meeting  a 
lady  in  the  street  should  say,  4 How  the  wind  blows ! ; the  lady 
would  find  it  difficult  to  avoid  laughing  in  his  face,  and  he 
would  become  the  laughing-stock  of  the  town.  And  yet  some 
who  are  entirely  free  from  affectation  themselves,  and  who 
would  almost  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  the  company  of  one 
who  should  say,  4 The  wind  blows/  will  borrow  the  affectation 
of  others,  take  up  a book,  and  tell  us  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
the  wind!  Perhaps  we  may  learn  from  their  reading  that  we 
sometimes  have  windy  weather  and  that  the  wind  turns  the 
windmill. 

44  Wind  is  the  pronunciation  of  the  stage,  and  the  actors  are 
afraid  to  be  natural  and  to  pronounce  the  word  as  cultivated 
ladies  and  gentlemen  pronounce  it.  The  stage  has  its  tradi- 
tions about  pronunciation,  attitude,  and  other  things,  and  by 
these  traditions  the  actors  are  enslaved.  In  the  sleep-walking 
scene  in  4 Macbeth J it  had  always  been  the  custom  to  keep  the 
candle  in  the  hand.  Mrs.  Siddons  when  she  was  about  to 
appear  as  Lady  Macbeth  determined  to  set  the  candle  on  the 
table  while  she  rubbed  her  hand  to  wash  off  the  blood.  Just 
before  she  was  going  upon  the  stage  Mr.  Sheridan,  the  man- 
ager, knocked  at  her  door  and  begged  to  be  admitted.  She 
entreated  that  she  should  not  be  disturbed;  but  Sheridan  pro- 
tested that  he  must  speak  to  her  on  a matter  of  a very  serious 
nature  concerning  her  interests.  At  last  she  was  compelled  to 
admit  him,  when  he  told  her  that  he  had  heard  with  the  greatest 
surprise  and  concern  that  she  intended  to  act  the  part  without 
keeping  the  candle  in  her  hand,  insisting  that  if  she  did  set  the 
candle  down,  it  would  be  considered  a presumptuous  innova- 
tion. But  Mrs.  Siddons  adhered  to  her  idea,  and  the  innova- 
tion was  received  with  so  much  approbation  that  Sheridan 
himself  congratulated  her  on  her  obstinacy.  Since  that  time 
the  candle  is  always  set  down.  If  any  eminent  actor  should 
have  the  courage  to  pronounce  wind  as  people  in  the  real 


96 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


world  pronounce  it,  his  4 innovation  7 would  be  as  well  received 
as  was  that  of  Mrs.  Siddons. 

“ Scarcely  any  of  the  dictionaries  mention  wind . Cooley, 
whose  dictionary  affords  a faithful  view  of  the  prevailing  style 
of  pronunciation  characterizing  the  general  body  of  cultivated 
speakers  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  gives  ‘ wind,  pedantically , 

wind.’ 

“Similar  remarks  are  to  be  made  about  the  pronunciation 
of  my  and  mine.  Some  persons  in  reading,  though  never  in 
speaking,  always  pronounce  these  words  with  the  vowel  short, 
my  and  min.  They  read  ‘My  proud  boy  Absalom7  and  ‘For- 
give min  iniquities.7  This  is  a theatrical  pronunciation  contrary 
to  the  usage  of  cultivated  people  throughout  the  English-speak- 
ing world.  Smart,  one  of  the  highest  English  authorities,  says, 
‘ When  this  word  (mine)  is  used  adjectively  before  a word  be- 
ginning with  a vowel  or  h mute,  as  in  saying,  On  mine  honor, 
the  complete  absence  of  accentual  force  and  a style  quite  collo- 
quial will  permit  the  shortening  of  the  sound  into  min’  He 
evidently  decides  against  shortening  mine  into  min  except  in  a 
very  colloquial  style,  and  Worcester  approves  his  decision.  With 
respect  to  my  we  find  in  Webster,  ‘The  word  my  when  used 
without  emphasis  takes  its  regular  short  sound  in  England,  and 
to  some  extent  in  this  country;  as,  I took  down  my  hat.  This 
sound,  however,  should  not  be  given  in  serious  or  solemn  dis- 
course, nor  should  the  y ever  be  turned  into  long  e,  after  the 
Irish  fashion;  as,  I took  down  mee  hat.7 

“A  short  time  ago  I heard  the  familiar  name  Israel  pro- 
nounced Is-raw-ale , and  the  speaker  said  he  was  giving  it  the 
Hebrew  pronunciation ! The  Hebrew  name  begins  with  a yodh, 
and  to  carry  out  his  notion,  he  should  have  pronounced  it  Yis- 
raw-ale.  I suppose  the  same  person  would  give  the  name  of 
the  great  Roman  orator  as  Kikero. 

“The  mention  of  proper  names  reminds  me  of  the  very 
common  mispronunciation  of  the  name  of  the  Italian  artist 
Guido.  It  is  gallicized  into  geedo.  But  the  Italians  do  not  sup- 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CERTAIN  WORDS. 


97 


press  the  sound  of  u before  i.  The  name  should  be  pronounced 
gweedo.  And  the  sound  of  u (pronounced  like  w)  is  retained 
even  in  some  French  proper  names.  Guise  is  pronounced  gweeze , 
not  geese.  The  name  of  the  French  historian  Guizot  is  correctly 
pronounced  gwezo.  But  enough  for  one  time.” 


9 


HELEN  AND  THE  OLD  TROJAN  CHIEFS. 


IN  the  preface  to  his  translation  of  the  Iliad,  Lord  Derby 
says:  “ Numerous  as  have  been  the  translators  of  the  Iliad, 
or  parts  of  it,  the  metres  which  have  been  selected  are  almost 
as  various;  the  couplet  in  rhyme,  the  Spenserian  stanza,  the 
trochaic  or  ballad  metre,  all  have  had  their  partisans,  even  to 
that  pestilent  heresy  of  the  so-called  English  hexameter;  a 
metre  wholly  repugnant  to  the  genius  of  our  language;  which 
can  only  be  pressed  into  the  service  by  a violation  of  every 
rule  of  prosody;  and  of  which,  notwithstanding  my  respect 
for  the  eminent  men  who  have  used  it,  I could  never  read  ten 
lines  without  being  reminded  of  Canning’s 

Dactylics  callest  thou  them  ? God  help  thee,  silly  one ! 

The  metre  of  Homer  is  to  all  English-speaking  people  noth- 
ing but  English  hexameter.  We  know  the  Greek  hexameter  as 
composed  of  long  syllables  and  short  syllables,  but  we  feel  it 
as  composed  of  accented  syllables  and  unaccented  syllables. 
Whenever  Lord  Derby  feels  the  melody  of  any  verse  of  Homer 
he  feels  it  as  an  Englishman;  the  melody  to  him  is  produced 
by  accent,  not  by  quantity.  He  may  think  that  his  ear  distin- 
guishes a difference  between  Greek  hexameter  and  English 
hexameter;  but  he  is  deluded.  He  must  have  a very  indefinite 
idea  of  the  “ rules  of  prosody.”  English  hexameter  verse  is  a 
regular  arrangement  of  syllables  according  to  accent,  and  it  no 
more  violates  the  rules  of  prosody  than  English  heroic  verse 
does.  English  hexameter  verse  has  not  been  a failure.  Who 
would  wish  Longfellow’s  “ Evangeline”  in  any  other  metre? 
Kingsley’s  “ Andromeda  ” is  acknowledged  to  be  written  with 

(98) 


HELEN  AND  THE  OLD  TROJAN  CHIEFS. 


99 


correctness  and  spirit.  German  poetry  is  like  English  poetry 
in  being  arranged  according  to  accent,  and  Voss  has  made 
an  elegant  translation  of  Homer  in  German  hexameter  verse. 
Goethe’s  “Der  Reineke  Fuchs”  is  in  hexameter  verse,  and 
full  of  melody  it  is. 

Homer  in  English  heroic  verse  does  not  sound  to  me  like 
Homer,  however  excellent  the  translation.  I have  tried  my 
hand  at  a translation  of  the  passage  relating  the  interview 
between  Helen  and  the  old  Trojan  chiefs  on  the  walls  of 
Troy.  I should  have  been  glad  to  make  the  translation 
better. 

Then  there  came  to  the  white-armed  Helen  the  messenger  Iris, 

In  the  form  of  her  sister-in-law  Laodice,  fairest 
Daughter  of  Priam,  and  wife  to  Antenor’s  son,  Helicaon. 

Her  in  her  chamber  she  found.  An  ample  web  she  was  weaving, 

Purple  and  double  in  fold,  presenting  the  many  sad  contests 
Of  the  Trojans,  the  tamers  of  steeds,  and  the  brass-clad  Achaians, 

Which  they  for  her  were  enduring.  Then  said  the  swift-footed  Iris, 

“Come  with  me,  dear  lady,  to  see  the  singular  doings 

Of  the  Trojans,  the  tamers  of  steeds,  and  the  brass-clad  Achaians ; 

Those  who  were  bringing  till  now  the  tear-causing  war  on  each  other, 
Eagerly  longing  for  murderous  fight,  are  now  sitting  in  silence, 

Leaning  themselves  on  their  shields,  their  spears  in  the  ground  fixed 
beside  them. 

Two  though  are  going  to  fight,  the  brave  Menelaus  and  Paris, 

With  their  long  spears,  and  thou  art  to  be  the  wife  of  the  victor.” 
Having  said  this,  the  goddess  infused  her  soul  with  sweet  yearning 
For  her  husband  of  other  days,  for  her  city  and  parents. 

Hastily  throwing  over  herself  a robe  of  white  linen, 

Pouring  down  the  tender  tear,  she  rushed  from  her  chamber. 

With  her  were  Aethra,  the  daughter  of  Pittheus,  and  Clymene,  full-eyed. 
Soon  did  they  come  to  the  Scaean  gate.  And  there,  with  attendants, 

Sat  King  Priam,  Panthous,  Clytius,  Lampus,  Thymoetes, 

Wise  Ucalegon,  wise  Antenor,  and  brave  Hicetaon. 

These  on  the  rampart  were  seated,  the  elders  of  Troy,  who,  no  longer 
Able  for  war,  were  eloquent  speakers,  resembling  cicadae, 

Which  from  the  tree  in  the  wood  send  forth  their  lily-like  * voices. 


* Translators  have  shown  themselves  shy  of  this  Homeric  epithet.  Pope  trans- 
lates “ feeble Lord  Derby  and  Mr.  Bryant  translate  it  “ delicate.”  No  one  who 
has  ever  heard  the  “voice”  of  this  cicada  would  think  of  calling  it  feeble ; certainly 


100 


HELEN  AND  THE  OLD  TROJAN  CHIEFS. 


Such  were  the  Trojan  chiefs  who  were  sitting  there  in  the  tower. 

When  they  saw  Helen  approaching  they  said  in  low  tones  to  each  other, 
“It  is  no  cause  for  anger  that  Trojans  and  well-greaved  Achaians 
For  a woman  like  her  should  endure  such  long-lasting  troubles. 
Wondrously  like  in  her  face  is  she  to  a goddess  immortal. 

Fair  as  she  is,  let  her  go,  nor  bring  sorrow  on  us  and  our  children.” 

Thus  did  they  say.  But  Priam  called,  “Come  hither,  dear  daughter! 

Sit  here  before  me,  to  see  thy  first  husband,  thy  friends  and  thy  kindred. 
Thou  art  in  nowise  to  blame;  ’t  is  the  gods  have  brought  on  me  these 
sorrows ; 

They  have  stirred  up  against  me  the  tear-causing  war  of  Achaians, 

Come  and  tell  me  now  the  name  of  yon  wonderful  chieftain. 

Who  is  that  wonderful  man  so  gallant  and  noble  of  stature  ? 

Other  men  indeed  have  I seen  a head  taller  than  he  is ; 

But  a form  so  noble  my  eyes  have  never  yet  looked  on, 

Nor  so  stately  of  bearing;  in  truth  his  appearance  is  king-like.” 

Thus  said  he.  Then  answered  him  Helen,  the  fairest  of  women : 

“O  beloved  father-in-law,  I revere  and  I fear  thee. 

Would  I had  chosen  to  die  before  with  thy  son  I came  hither, 

Leaving  my  husband,  my  daughter,  my  kindred,  and  dear  young 
companions. 


Homer  does  not  call  it  feeble.  What  is  the  objection  to  a literal  translation  of  Homer’s 
epithet  ? The  idea  in  Homer  is  that  the  voice  of  the  cicada  gives  to  the  mind  through 
the  ear  a pleasure  similar  to  that  which  the  lily  gives  to  the  mind  through  the  eye. 
This  is  highly  poetic.  When  Byron  says, 

The  mind,  the  music,  breathing  from  her  face, 
he  means  that  her  lovely  face  causes  a feeling  similar  to  that  which  is  caused  by 
lovely  music.  Longfellow  says  of  Evangeline, 

“ When  she  had  passed  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing  of  exquisite  music,” 
implying  that  her  sweet  presence  affected  the  mind  like  sweet  music.  We  find  in 
one  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson’s  poems, 

I thought  the  sparrow’s  note  from  heaven, 

Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder-bough. 

I brought  him  home  in  his  nest  at  even. 

He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  now; 

For  I did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky; 

He  sang  to  my  ear,  they  sang  to  my  eye. 

Richard  Lovelace  (born  1618)  says  : 

O ! could  you  view  the  melody 
Of  every  grace, 

And  music  of  her  face, 

You ’d  drop  a tear; 

Seeing  more  harmony 
In  her  bright  eye 
Than  now  you  hear. 


HELEN  AND  THE  OLD  TROJAN  CHIEFS. 


IOI 


But  my  fate  was  not  so,  and  therefore  I pine  away  weeping. 

But  I will  answer  thy  question.  The  man  about  whom  thou  inquirest, 
He  is  the  son  of  Atreus,  the  wide-ruling  king  Agamemnon, 

Who  is  both  a good  monarch  and  also  a powerful  warrior. 

He  was  my  brother-in-law,  if  so  I,  shameless,  dare  call  him.” 

Thus  said  she.  But  the  old  man  admiringly  gazed  on  him,  saying, 
“Happy  Atrides,  favored  of  fate!  O fortunate  monarch! 

Truly  very  large  numbers  of  Greeks  by  thee  are  commanded. 

Once  in  vine-clad  Phrygia  was  I and  saw  many  soldiers, 

Men  of  swift  steeds,  the  soldiers  of  Otreus  and  Mygdon  the  godlike, 
Who  were  then  encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  Phrygian  river, 

At  the  time  when  to  Phrygia  came  the  Amazon  warriors ; 

But  not  these  were  so  many  as  are  the  quick-glancing  Achaians.” 

Seeing  Ulysses,  he  said,  “ Dear  child,  pray  tell  me  of  this  one, 

Shorter  indeed  by  the  head  than  Agamemnon  Atrides, 

Broader,  however,  in  shoulders  and  chest.  On  the  ground  are  his 
weapons ; 

But  among  the  ranks  of  his  soldiers  he  moves  about  ram-like. 

Liken  him  do  I to  a thick-fleeced  ram  that  keeps  moving 
Through  the  large  flock  of  white  sheep.”  Then  Helen,  divinely — 
descended : 

“This  one  indeed  is  the  son  of  Laertes,  sagacious  Ulysses; 

In  the  land  of  Ithaca,  rugged  isle,  he  was  nourished. 

He  is  skilled  in  all  kinds  of  wiles  and  in  circumspect  counsels.” 

Then  said  the  wise  Antenor,  “O  lady,  the  truth  thou  hast  spoken. 

Once  came  hither  the  godlike  Ulysses  with  brave  Menelaus, 

Coming  to  treat  about  thee.  In  my  house  as  my  guests  I received  them. 
Then  did  I learn  the  genius  of  each  and  his  wisdom  in  counsel. 

When  indeed  they  mingled  themselves  with  the  Trojans  assembled, 

If  they  stood,  Menelaus’  broad  shoulders  rose  over  Ulysses ; 

But  when  sitting  Ulysses  presented  the  nobler  appearance. 

When  indeed  they  were  giving  in  public  their  words  and  their  counsels 
Truly  then  Menelaus  spoke  fluently,  clearly,  and  sweetly, 

Being  one  of  not  many  words,  not  a talker  at  random, 

Though  he  is  younger.  But  when  arose  the  sagacious  Ulysses 
Motionless  stood  he,  looking  down,  on  the  ground  his  eyes  fixing; 

And  his  staff  he  did  not  turn  either  backward  or  forward, 

Holding  it  stiff  in  his  hand  and  looking  like  one  who  knows  nothing. 
You  would  regard  him  as  one  very  angry  and  so  without  reason. 

When,  however,  came  forth  his  voice  and  his  words  like  to  snow-flakes 
Then  indeed  no  mortal  man  could  compare  with  Ulysses. 

Truly  then  no  longer  we  thought  of  his  outward  appearance.” 

Then,  seeing  Ajax,  the  old  man  inquired,  “Who  is  this  other, 


102 


HELEN  AND  THE  OLD  TROJAN  CHIEFS. 


This  Achaian  man  brave-looking  and  noble  of  stature  ? 

By  the  head  and  broad  shoulders  he  towers  above  all  the  others.” 

And  then  answered  him  flowing-robed  Helen,  the  fairest  of  women, 
•‘That  is  the  wall  of  the  Greeks,  the  huge  and  terrible  Ajax. 

There  in  the  midst  of  the  Cretans  I see  Idomeneus  standing, 

Godlike,  and  about  him  the  chiefs  of  the  Cretans  are  gathered. 

Often  brave  Menelaus  as  a guest  has  received  him 
In  our  house  in  Sparta  when  from  Crete  came  the  hero. 

But  1 see  all  the  rest  of  the  quick-sighted  Greeks  and  could  name  them 
Two  yet  I look  for  in  vain,  my  brothers,  the  sons  of  my  mother, 

Castor,  the  tamer  of  steeds,  and  Pollux,  the  victor  in  boxing. 

Did  they  not  come  with  the  chieftains  to  Troy  from  dear  Lacedaemon  ? 
Or  having  come  in  the  sea-going  ships,  do  they  stay  from  the  battle, 
Fearing  the  shames  and  many  reproaches  that  cling  to  their  sister?” 
Thus  did  she  say.  But  now  in  the  bosom  of  earth  lay  her  brothers, 

Far  away  in  the  dear  fatherland,  their  own  Lacedaemon. 


THERE  CAN  NOT  BE  MORE  THAN  ONE  FIRST. 


A GREEK  philosopher  said  that  if  the  greatest  absurdity  in 
the  world  should  be  repeated  to  a person  every  morning 
when  he  rises,  he  will  in  time  come  to  believe  it.  But  some 
absurdities  are  believed  without  the  labor  implied  in  the  philos- 
opher’s remark.  Among  these  is  the  statement  that  there  can 
not  be  more  than  one  first.  Some  fatuous  individual  with  a 
high  opinion  of  himself,*  whom  I hope  the  world  will  willingly 
let  die  if  he  still  cumbers  the  earth,  one  day  proclaimed  that 
“ there  can  not  be  more  than  one  first,”  and  the  number  of 
persons  who  have  believed  him  is  as  yet  indefinite.  I would 
not  be  less  charitable  toward  him  than  Burns  is  toward  “the 
De’il,”  and  “ wad  he  tak’  a thought  and  men’,”  I should  hope 
that  he  may  “still  hae  a stake.”  But  how  much  charity  is  re- 
quired in  order  to  feel  this  hope ! Think  how  many  he  has  led 
astray ! 

This  individual — he  was  too  small  in  mind  to  be  divided — 
one  day  found  himself  among  the  ordinal  numbers,  the  state  of 
his  intellect  confining  him,  no  doubt,  to  a few  of  the  first  num- 
bers. With  intense  excitement  he  observed  that  after  “first”  he 
said  “second.”  His  mind  became  suddenly  ablaze  with  the 
light  of  a new  idea,  and  he  exclaimed,  “ Every  body  says  the 
two  first , when,  behold ! there  can  not  be.  more  than  one  first ! 
I will  proclaim  my  discovery  to  the  world.”  Which  he  did. 
Let  us  hope  that  this  was  one  of  his  first  efforts  in  one  of  the 


* He  was  probably  the  person  intended  in  the  following  lines : 

Of  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth, 

The  best  that  I know  for  a lover  of  pelf 
Is  to  buy  up  this  man  at  the  price  he  is  worth, 

And  then  sell  him  at  that  which  he  sets  on  himself. 


io4 


“ THERE  CAN  NOT  BE  MORE  THAN  ONE  FIRST.” 


first  years  of  his  life,  made  in  one  of  the  first  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing, before  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  had  completely  opened  his 
eyes,  and  before  the  first  songs  of  the  birds  entered  his  ears; 
and  that  in  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  had — more  sense. 

To  speak  more  seriously,  the  confusion  of  mind  concerning 
the  word  first  is  a remarkable  thing.  Persons  who  are  con- 
stantly using  the  word  in  connection  with  plural  nouns,  will  say 
confidently,  “ There  can  not  be  more  than  one  first.”  Indeed 
it  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  hear  expressions  like  this,  “ In 
my  first  articles  for  the  magazine,  I used  to  write  ‘ the  two  first/ 
not  reflecting  that  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  first.”  In 
despair  of  finding  any  other  solution  of  this  matter,  I am 
tempted  to  ascribe  the  whole  thing  to  “ the  depravity  of  human 
nature.” 

The  word  first , an  adjective  in  the  superlative  degree,  was 
pressed  into  service  as  a numeral  adjective,  as  a poker  may 
be  used  to  knock  down  a burglar.  But  as  the  poker  that  has 
knocked  down  the  burglar  is  still  used  to  poke  the  fire,  so  first, 
besides  its  use  as  a numeral,  is  still  an  adjective  in  the  superla- 
tive degree.  To  say  that  there  can  be  but  one  first  is  as  absurd 
as  to  say  that  a poker  is  an  instrument  made  to  knock  down 
burglars,  and  that  it  can  not  have  more  than  one  use.  First 
means  “preceding  all  others  of  the  class  or  kind,”  and  we  may 
take  one  or  two  or  three  or  more  as  preceding  all  others  of  the 
class  or  kind.  When  we  say  “the  first  hours  of  the  day,”  we 
mean  the  hours  that  come  before  all  the  other  hours,  and  when 
we  say  so  we  are  not  numbering  the  hours. 

The  Anglo-Saxons  made  use  of  other  as  the  second  ordinal 
number.  If  that  usage  had  come  down  to  us,  we  might  have 
heard  some  persons  object  to  such  expressions  as  other  men,  and 
assert  that  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  other. 

Malcolm  says  to  the  thanes  assembled  after  the  death  of 
Macbeth,  _ _ , ... 

My  thanes  and  kinsmen, 

Henceforth  be  earls — the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honor  named. 


THERE  CAN  NOT  BE  MORE  THAN  ONE  FIRST. 


u 


io5 


If  there  can  be  only  one  first,  it  must  have  taken  several  of 
those  thanes  to  make  one ; which  would  imply  that  each  of  the 
thanes,  Macduff  in  the  number,  was  only  a fraction  of  a man. 
When  Worcester,  speaking  of  himself,  Northumberland,  and 
Hotspur,  says  to  Henry  IV., 

We  were  the  first  and  dearest  of  your  friends, 

the  king  might  have  annihilated  them  and  prevented  a battle 
by  saying  in  the  sternest  tones, 

Learn  to  speak  English  ere  I treat  with  you. 

How  could  you  be  the  first,  when  you  were  three  ? 

Know  that  the  first  is  followed  by  the  second, 

As  that  is  by  the  third.  So  there  can  be 
No  more  than  one  first.  Hence  and  quit  my  sight ! 

Let  the  earth  hide  thee — aye,  all  three  of  thee! 


If  Henry  had  only  known  that  there  can  not  be  more  than  one 
first,  he  might  have  changed  the  world’s  history! 

Only  among  English-speaking  people  has  there  been  found  a 
person  who  could  discover  that  there  can  not  be  more  than 
one  first.  In  this  respect  our  language  is  like  Orator  Phillips’s 
Napoleon,  “ grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar.”  Other  languages 
permit  a writer  to  take,  without  fear  of  any  remonstrance,  one 
object  or  a group  of  several  objects  as  first,  as  coming  before 
the  other  objects  of  the  class.  For  instance,  Sallust  says  of 
Jugurtha,  “ Leonem  atque  alias  feras  primus  aut  in  primis  ferirefi 
he  was  the  first  or  among  the  first  to  strike  the  lion  and  other 
wild  beasts;  that  is,  he  was  before  all  the  others  or  among  those 
that  were  before  all  the  others.  The  same  author  says  that  in 
the  battle  in  which  Catiline  was  slain,  Manlius  and  the  Faesulan 
fell  “ in  primis ,”  among  the  first.  Horace  says,  “ prceponens 
ultima  primis ,”  placing  the  last  [words]  before  the  first  [words]. 
In  the  Iliad,  Ulysses  is  about  to  make  a speech,  and  Minerva, 
in  the  form  of  a herald,  commands  silence,  in  order  that  the 
first  and  the  last  of  the  Greeks  may  hear  the  speech.  If  there 
can  be  only  one  first  and  one  last,  Ulysses  must  have  had  a 


106  “ THERE  CAN  NOT  BE  MORE  THAN  ONE  FIRST.” 

small  audience.  He  might  have  taken  the  two  out  and  “ given 
them  a talking  ” in  private  without  troubling  Minerva. 

To  some  it  may  seem  that  time  is  wasted  when  it  is  spent  in 
proving  that  there  may  be  more  than  one  first,  the  thing  being 
so  plain;  but  when  hundreds  of  people  repeat  this  absurdity  to 
us,  what  are  we  to  do?  When  we  follow  reason  and  our  class- 
ical writers  in  saying  “ the  two  first,”  a large  number  of  people 
will  rise  up  and  say,  “ That's  wrong;  it  ought  to  be  the  ‘ first 
two;’  for  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  first.”  O people  that 
have  left  the  ways  of  truth  and  soberness,  and  gone  running 
after  a blind  guide,  what  are  we  to  do  with  you?  We  can  not 
annihilate  you.  We  can  only  earnestly  beg  you  to  bring  out 
some  of  your  concealed  common  sense  and  make  use  of  it  on 
this  subject. 

Those  who  assert  that  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  first 
also  assert  that  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  last,  and  they 
accordingly  say  “the  last  two”  instead  of  “the  two  last.” 

In  the  account  of  Dido’s  death  Virgil  says,  “ dixitque  novis- 
sima  verba”  she  spoke  her  last  words , and  then  he  gives  eight 
verses  of  last  words.  Every  one  knows  the  last  words  of  Mar- 
mion,  the  three  last  of  which  are  “ On,  Stanley,  on ! ” 

Those  who  say  “the  first  two,”  “the  last  two,”  have  begun 
to  use  such  expressions  as  “the  following  two  words,”  “the 
preceding  two  years,”  and  other  abominations  of  the  kind,  as 
if  the  whole  universe  were  counted  off  in  twos  for  a militia- 
muster.*  A correspondent  of  one  of  our  daily  journals,  in  a 
spasmodic  effort  to  arrange  objects  in  twos,  puts  asunder  what 
have  been  joined  together,  and,  instead  of  “the  two  last-named 
parties,”  writes  “ the  last  two  parties  named.”  O mortal  to  be 
pitied!  To  such  things  hast  thou  been  led  by  the  assertion  that 
there  can  not  be  more  than  one  last!  To  carry  out  the  prin- 
ciple it  will  be  necessary  to  say,  instead  of  “the  two  hand- 
somest women  in  the  room,”  “ the  handsomest  two  women  in 


* The  first  two  is  correct  when  we  speak  of  objects  arranged  in  twos,  so  that 
after  the  first  two  we  have  a second  two,  etc. 


“ THERE  CAN  NOT  BE  MORE  THAN  ONE  FIRST.”  107 

the  room;”  for  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  handsomest. 
Then  for  similar  reasons  it  will  be  necessary  to  say  “the  most 
expressive  two  words,”  “the  highest  two  characters,”  “the 
blackest  two  persons,”  “the  chief  two  men,”  “the  principal' 
two  officers”! 

In  the  following  extracts  is  shown  the  usage  of  those  who 
have  not  been  frightened  from  their  propriety  by  the  assertion 
that  there  can  not  be  more  than  one  first : “ The  two  first  and 
the  four  tasty — Scott.  “The  two  first  verses.” — lb.  “The  three 
first  monarchies  of  the  world.” — Raleigh . “The  seven  first  cen- 
turies.”— Gibbon.  “The  three  first  years  of  his  reign.” — lb. 
“ The  two  first  Georges.” — Jeffrey.  “A  breach  of  the  four  first 
commandments  of  the  decalogue.” — William  Cullen  Bryant. 
“The  three  first  stanzas.” — Addison.  “The  twelve  last  are  to 
my  purpose.” — lb . “The  foitr  first  acts  already  passed.” — 
Bishop  Berkeley.  “The  four  first  acts.” — Sherida?i.  “These 
two  last  groups.” — Prof.  Whitney.  “ The  two  first  parliaments 
of  William.” — Macaulay.  “ Her  six  first  French  kings.” — lb. 
“The  two  first  requisitions.” — Thomas  Hughes.  “The  five  last 
scenes.” — Moore.  “The  two  first  sheets  of  his  poem.” — Sydney 
Smith.  “The  three  first  days  of  their  sitting.” — Swift.  “The 
two  last  housekeepers.” — Thackeray.  “The  three  first  acts  of 
his  Hamlet.” — Dickens.  “The  four  greatest  names  in  English 
poetry  are  almost  the  four  first  we  come  to.” — Hazlitt.  “The 
two  first  years.” — Charles  Kingsley.  “The  four  first.” — Izaak 
Walton.  “The  five  first  lines  of  the  Iliad.” — Fielding.  “The 
two  last  may  enter  Carleton  or  any  other  house,  and  the  two 
first  are  limited  to  the  opera.” — Byron.  “The  three  first  gener- 
ations.”— Edward  Eve?'ett.  “The  two  first  years.” — Bancroft. 
“The  two  next  lines  in  that  ode.” — Johnson.  “Procure  tran- 
script of  the  ten  or  twenty  first  lines.” — lb.  “The  two  first 
days.” — Irving.  “The  four  first  centuries.” — Prescott.  “The 
three  first  of  his  longer  poems.” — Southey.  Prof.  March  says, 
Forma  (first)  and  other  (second,  other)  are  sometimes  used  in 
the  plural  describing  a class,  and  are  then  arranged  as  descrip- 


108  u THERE  CAN  NOT  BE  MORE  THAN  ONE  FIRST.” 

tives;*  tha  threo  f orman  gebedu , the  three  first  prayers;  twegen 
othre  manfulle,  two  other  malefactors.  So  in  other  languages : 
hepta  tas  eschatas,  Latin,  septem  novissimas , the  seven  last 
[plagues]. — Eng . Bible , Rev.  xv,  i ; xxi,  9.  “ I read  to  Albert 

the  three  first  cantos  of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.” — Queen 
Victoria , Life  in  the  Highlands , p.  4 6.  “ Our  two  eldest  chil- 
dren.”— /A,  pp.  76,  234.  “ Two  other  keepers.” — lb.,  p.  70. 

“ In  den  sechs  ersten  Conjugationen  (in  the  six  first  conjugations).” 
Grimm , D.  G.  1038.  uLes  onze  premiers  chapiires  (the 
eleven  first  chapters).” — Renan,  Hist.  Sem.  Lang.  /,  27.  uLas 
dos  primeras  partes  (the  two  first  parts).” — Don  Carlos , quoted  in 
Motley , R.  D.  R.  ILL,  193.  u Las  cuairo  primeras  (the  four 
first! — Don  Quixote , 353.  “/  die  ci  primi  libri  (the  ten  first 

books). — Diez,  3,  436.  Anglo-Saxon  Grammar,  p.  217. 


* Qualifying  adjectives  following  adjectives. 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


IN  a Canada  magazine  there  is  a notice  of  “ Butler’s  Prac- 
tical and  Critical  Grammar,”  in  which  the  writer  dissents 
from  the-grammar  in  respect  to  the  form  “is  being  built,”  though 
the  notice  is  in  general  highly  commendatory.  The  writer  says : 
“Note  O (and  last)  is  devoted  to  4 is  being  built,’  Mr.  Butler 
taking  the  adverse  side.  It  is  a pity  grammarians  can  not 
understand  that  a grammar  can  no  more  put  a stop  to  the 
growth  of  a living  language  than  a German  emperor  could 
change  a dead  one.  Whether  this  form  is  found  in  the  best 
writers  or  not,  one  thing  is  certain,  it  has  become  rooted  in 
English  speech,  meeting  what  was  felt  to  be  a want.  It  would 
be  far  better  for  writers  to  examine  the  laws  of  its  formation 
than  to  take  a prejudiced  stand  on  either  side.  There  is  a law 
governing  the  use  of  auxiliaries,  and  that  law  will  allow  of  this 
form,  but  not  of  many  of  the  forms  quoted  on  page  102  from 
Mason’s  English  Grammar.  If  this  should  meet  the  eye  of 
Mr.  Butler,  let  him  examine  for  the  rule.  We  have  never  seen 
it  given  in  any  grammar,  yet  he  (Mr.  Butler)  has  in  one  case 
called  a violation  of  it  ‘a  vulgarism.’”  In  a note  the  writer 
says,  “'Is  being  taught’  is  used  by  the  Rev.  E.  A.  Abbott,  the 
author  of  'A  Shakespearian  Grammar’  and  other  almost  unri- 
valled works  on  English.  That  a distinct  form  for  the  pro- 
gressive passive  is  needed  will  be  recognized  by  any  one  who 
pays  attention  to  the  speech  of  uneducated  persons  and  of  chil- 
dren. How  common  is  the  substitute  use  of  the  middle  in 
getting.’  This  morning  I heard  a little  four -year -old  say, 
‘while  I was  getting  washed.’” 


no 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


Now  to  represent  getting  as  a substitute  for  being  is  like  repre- 
senting ale  as  a substitute  for  the  orange-peel  and  water  of  Dick 
Swiveller’s  Marchioness.  The  little  four-year-old  used  an  ap- 
propriate word.  Getting,  as  the  child  used  the  word,  means 
becoming,  coming  to  be,  not  being . The  little  fellow  was  acquiring 
the  condition  expressed  by  washed,  not  yet  being  in  it.  Words- 
worth says,  “The  boy  is  father  of  the  man;”  the  man  who  is  to 
be  the  son  of  that  boy  will  never  say  “is  being  washed”  or  “is 
being  built,”  unless  he  should  prove  to  be  one  of  those  grace- 
less wretches  who  show  no  respect  for  their  parents.  The  man 
who  is  under  the  hands  of  the  barber  is  getting  shaved,  but  being 
shaved  he  walks  out  of  the  shop.  Horace  was  getting  rid  of 
the  bore  when  he  was  witnessing  the  arrest,  but  being  rid  of  him 
he  continued  his  walk. 

When  the  reverened  author  of  “A  Shakespearian  Grammar” 
uses  “is  being  taught”  to  denote  progressive  action  he  does 
what  Shakespeare  never  did.  Shakespeare  says, 

We  but  teach 

Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught , return 
To  plague  the  inventor. 

Does  Shakespeare  mean  to  imply  that  the  bloody  instructions 
“are  being  taught”  while  they  are  returning  to  plague  the  in- 
ventor? Does  he  mean  to  tell  us  that  the  teaching  is  going  on, 
not  completed?  Antony,  furious  when  he  sees  the  messenger 
of  Caesar  kissing  the  hand  of  Cleopatra,  cries  out, 

Whip  him,  fellows, 

Till,  like  a boy,  you  see  him  cringe  his  face 
And  cry  aloud  for  mercy.  Being  whipped , 

Bring  him  again. 

Did  Antony  order  his  servants  to  bring  the  messenger  while 
they  were  whipping  him?  When  he  was  started  on  his  way 
back  to  Antony,  the  messenger  was  under  the  impression  that 
the  whipping  had  been  done,  unless  indeed  his  skin  was  harder 
than  even  the  skull  of  the  colored  person  who  when  a thunder- 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


Ill 


bolt  struck  him  scratched  his  head  doubtfully,  with  the  passing 
remark,  “ I thought  I felt  something  hit  my  head.”  When  Bas- 
sanio  says, 

These  things  being  bought  and  orderly  bestowed , 

Return  in  haste, 

does  he  direct  Leonardo  to  return  in  haste  while  he  is  buying 
and  bestowing  the  things  ? 

Falstciff \ These  nine  in  buckram  that 
I told  thee  of,  their  points  being  broken , — 

Poins.  Down  fell  their  hose. 

Does  Poins  mean  that  the  hose  fell  before  the  points  that  held 
them  up  were  broken? 

In  Tennyson’s  “ Holy  Grail”  King  Arthur  says  to  the  knights 
that  have  vowed  to  go  in  quest  of  the  holy  cup, 

Go,  since  your  vows  are  sacred,  being  made. 

And  afterward  to  those  that  have  returned  he  says, 

The  king  must  guard 

That  which  he  rules,  and  is  but  as  the  hind 
To  whom  a space  of  land  is  given  to  plough, 

Who  may  not  wander  from  the  allotted  field 
Before  his  work  be  done ; but,  being  done , 

Let  visions  of  the  night  or  of  the  day 
Come  as  they  will. 

Being  denotes  actual  existence  in  the  state  expressed  by  the 
word  with  which  it  is  connected,  not  coming  into  existence. 
Being  when  referring  to  present  time  has  the  same  meaning 
that  is  has;  being , the  participle,  assuming  what  is , the  indica- 
tive, asserts.  Compare  these  two  sentences:  “He  is  wealthy, 
and  he  can  afford  to  do  this;”  “ Being  wealthy,  he  can  afford  to 
do  this.”  Here  by  employing  is  we  assert  that  he  is  wealthy, 
and  by  employing  being  we  assume  that  he  is  wealthy.  Each  of 
the  sentences  expresses  present  existence  in  the  state  denoted 


112 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


by  wealthy , not  coming  into  that  state.  In  other  words,  the  dif- 
ferences between  asserting  and  assuming  is  all  the  difference 
between  is  and  being.  Being  does  not  denote  coming  to  be  any 
more  than  is  denotes  coming  to  be.  Imogen  says  to  Belarius, 

I have  a kinsman  who 

Is  bound  for  Italy ; he  embarked  at  Milford ; 

To  whom  being  going,  almost  spent  with  hunger, 

I am  fallen  in  this  offence. 

Macbeth,  referring  to  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  says, 

Unreal  mockery,  hence!  Why,  so;  being  gone, 

I am  a man  again. 

In  the  first  of  these  passages  is  expressed  something  con- 
tinuing, in  the  second  something  completed;  but  being  has  the 
same  meaning  in  the  one  that  it  has  in  the  other;  it  denotes 
existence  in  the  state  denoted  by  the  word  with  which  it  is 
connected. 

If  instead  of  an  adjective  we  use  a participle  after  is  and 
being , there  is  no  change  made  in  the  meaning  of  either  of 
them,  being  still  assuming  the  same  thing  that  is  asserts.  “ The 
letter  is  written,  and  I will  now  seal  it;”  “The  letter  being 
written,  I will  now  seal  it.”  Here  being  as  well  as  is  denotes 
actual  existence  in  the  state  expressed  by  written , is  asserting 
and  being  assuming.  If  we  say  “The  letter  is  being  written” 
we  do  nothing  but  assert  and  assume  at  the  same  time;  as 
if  we  should  say  “The  letter  is  written  being  written.”  If 
it  is  true  that  “the  house  is  being  built,”  then  it  is  time 
for  the  workmen  to  go  home;  for  the  house  is  built  being 
built;  though  to  ordinary  mortal  eyes  nothing  may  be  visi- 
ble except  a foundation  or  mayhap  a row  or  two  of  bricks 
besides. 

Built , written , finished , done , and  all  words  of  this  kind 
denote  completed  states,  and  being  used  with  any  of  them 
denotes  existence  in  the  completed  state. 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


IJ3 

The  discussion  may  be  brought  down  to  this  single  point: 
Does  being  denote  in  the  participial  form  what  be  and  is  de- 
note in  other  forms  ? Does  being  denote  existing,  as  be  denotes 
exist  and  is  denotes  exists  ? The  objection  to  is  being  built  is 
that  being  does  not  denote  coming  to  be,  which  it  must  mean 
if  the  expression  is  correct.  If  is  does  not  denote  coming  to 
be,  and  being  does  not  denote  coming  to  be,  and  built  does  not 
denote  coming  be,  how  can  is  being  built  denote  coming  to  be  ? 

But  some  persons  confuse  themselves  by  speaking  of  the 
“ progressive  ” being . A writer  who  is  in  general  very  clear- 
headed says,  “ Being  built  is  made  up  of  two  elements,  (i)  being, 
which  is  present,  continuous,  and  (2)  built,  which  is  perfect, 
complete.”  Here  he  has  the  correct  idea  of  the  meaning  of 
being.  It  denotes  a continuous  state;  but  however  prolonged 
the  state  may  be,  it  is  still  the  same  state,  the  state  of  being, 
not  of  becoming.  A little  further  on  the  writer  has  the  “pro- 
gressive” being.  He  has  changed  from  continuous  to  progressive, 
as  if  these  two  words  denoted  the  same  thing,  whereas  progress- 
ive denotes  not  continuance  in  the  same  state,  but  change  from 
one  state  to  another.  The  word  which  a moment  ago  denoted 
existence  in  connection  with  a certain  state  has  gone  back,  and 
now  denotes  non-existence,  mere  progress  toward  existence.  In 
this  change  the  word  being  has  made  a progress  backward.  The 
shower  of  rain  pouring  upon  us  changes  suddenly  to  the  little 
cloud  rising  in  the  west.  The  fire  blazing  before  us  sinks  back 
to  a lucifer  match  and  a possibility.  Our  wishes  influence  our 
judgments,  and  we  may  be  so  intensely  anxious  to  have  an 
elephant  that  we  may  come  to  regard  our  mule  as  being  the 
same  thing  as  an  elephant. 

It  is  said  that  the  form  is  being  built  meets  “what  was  felt 
to  be  a want,”  that  it  came  “ of  necessity  and  by  growth  into 
existence,”  that  “ it  had  doubtless  existed  in  speech  long  before 
it  showed  itself  in  literature.”  This  form  did  not  originate  in 
a call  for  it.  Our  classical  writers  had  gone  on  from  generation 
to  generation  without  feeling  any  need  of  such  form  as  is  being 


10 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


114 

built.  The  need  of  this  expression  was  not  felt  by  Shakespeare, 
or  Bacon,  or  Ben  Jonson,  or  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  or  Flooker, 
or  Hobbes,  or  Clarendon,  or  Jeremy  Taylor,  or  Milton,  or  Dry- 
den,  or  Dr.  Johnson,  or  Cowper,  or  Young,  or  Thomson,  or 
Swift,  or  Pope,  or  Steele,  or  Addison,  or  Burke,  or  Pitt,  or  Fox, 
or  Goldsmith,  or  Sheridan,  or  Sterne,  or  Hume,  or  Gibbon,  or 
Robertson,  or  Paley,  or  Blackstone,  or  Locke,  or  Newton,  or 
Fielding,  or  Smollett,  or  Richardson,  or  Irving,  or  Macaulay. 
The  remark  has  been  made  that  Chatterton’s  poems  might  have 
been  shown  to  be  forgeries  by  their  containing  the  word  its, 
which  was  not  in  use  in  the  fifteenth  century.  Tennyson  in  his 
“ Queen  Mary  ” attributes  to  Sir  Thomas  White,  Lord  Mayor 
of  London,  language  that  was  never  used  by  him  or  any  of  his 
contemporaries — “ While  this  same  marriage  question  was  being 
argued .”  In  other  places  Tennyson  employs  the  gerund  in  a 
passive  sense.  “ Philip . Simon,  is  supper  ready?  Renard.  Ay, 
my  liege,  I saw  the  cover  laying .”  Green  in  his  “ History  of 
the  English  People  ” says,  “ ‘ Irishmen/  wrote  one  of  the  lord 
justices  to  Cromwell,  ‘were  never  in  such  fear  as  now.  The 
king’s  sessions  are  being  kept  in  five  shires  more  than  formerly.’  ” 
Now,  we  will  wager  our  finest  castle  in  Spain  that  the  lord  jus- 
tice never  wrote  that  to  Cromwell  or  to  any  other  person.  In 
the  first  place,  are  kept  would  have  expressed  his  idea;  and  in 
the  second  place,  he  had  no  knowledge  of  any  such  phrase  as 
are  being  kept. 

The  form  is  being  built  was  not  introduced  because  any  one 
felt  the  want,  but  because  some  one  “ could  not  tell  a lie.”  An 
ardent  lover  of  truth  was  one  day  struck  with  the  thought  that 
when  we  say  “the  house  is  building”  we  tell  a lie,  making  the 
house  a mason  or  a carpenter.  A strong  imagination  may  per- 
haps form  some  idea  of  the  agony  of  his  soul.  “How  can 
we,”  he  cried,  “how  can  we  thus  lead  the  world  astray  and 
hope  to  be  saved?”  In  desperation  he  seized  upon  is  being 
built  and  he  never  again  made  any  one  believe  that  houses 
build. 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


IT5 


One  gentleman  says  that  the  fact  that  Shakespeare,  Irving, 
Macaulay,  and  others  of  the  same  class  did  not  use  this  modern 
form  does  not  prove  that  we  should  not  use  it  any  more  than 
the  fact  that  these  worthies  did  not  ride  on  railways  or  write  by 
telegraph  proves  that  we,  their  more  fortunate  descendants, 
should  not  enjoy  these  improvements.  Irving  and  Macaulay 
did  “ride  on  railways’"  and  did  “write  by  telegraph,”  and  many 
others  have  done  the  same,  and  yet  have  refused  to  corrupt  the 
language  by  the  use  of  the  barbarous  form  is  being  built . The 
fact  that  we  ride  on  railways  and  write  by  telegraph  does  not 
prove  that  we  may  adopt  any  proposed  innovation  in  language. 
Our  forefathers  used  flour  for  making  bread,  and  flour  was 
found  to  be  very  good  for  this  purpose;  but  some  innovator 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  sawdust  is  much  better.  An  ob- 
jector to  sawdust  may  say,  “Our  forefathers  used  flour  for 
making  bread,  and  they  had  wholesome  reasons  for  using  this 
material.”  “But,”  says  the  advocate  for  sawdust,  “our  fore- 
fathers did  not  ride  on  railways  nor  write  by  telegraph;  and 
their  use  of  flour  does  not  prove  that  we,  their  more  fortunate 
descendants,  shall  not  use  sawdust.”  A philosopher  proposes 
that  we  shall  get  our  sunbeams  from  cucumbers,  and  a cautious 
individual  says,  “ Our  forefathers  always  got  their  sunbeams  from 
the  blessed  sun  himself,  and  on  the  whole  we  prefer  the  old  way.” 
“ How  can  you  be  so  old-fogyish ! ” exclaims  the  man  of  cucum- 
bers. “Our  forefathers  never  rode  on  railways  or  wrote  by 
telegraph,  and  you  must  therefore  see  the  absurdity  of  depend- 
ing on  the  sun  for  sunbeams.  So  cucumbers  forever!  and  out 
with  the  sun!  The  sun  may  do  for  old  fogies,  but  the  ‘pro- 
gressives’ demand  cucumbers.  A fig  for  your  natural  philoso- 
phy and  your  astronomy ! give  us  cucumbers ! ” 

But  not  only  was  the  form  is  being  built  unknown  to  our 
forefathers,  but  it  is  avoided  by  all  modern  writers  who  aim  at 
a classical  style.  Take  this  passage  at  random  from  Hallam’s 
“History  of  Literature”:  “The  laity  might  have  remained  in 
as  gross  ignorance  as  before,  while  topics  so  removed  from 


ii  6 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


common  utility  were  treated  in  an  unknown  tongue.”  Were 
treated  would  be  in  the  new  style  were  being  treated . Here  is 
Motley’s  “Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic;”  let  us  open  the  first 
volume  at  random:  “The  Netherlands  still  remained  faithful  to 
the  empire.  Batavian  blood  was  still  poured  out  in  its  defense.” 
New  style,  was  being  poured.  “The  Netherlands  are  succes- 
sively or  simultaneously  trampled  by  Franks,  Vandals,  Alaric.” 
New  style,  are  being  trampled.  “The  Netherlands,  like  the  other 
provinces  of  the  great  monarch’s  domain,  were  governed  by 
crown-appointed  functionaries.”  New  style,  were  being  governed. 
“There  was  no  redress  against  the  lawless  violence  to  which 
they  were  perpetually  exposed .”  New  style,  were  being  perpetually 
exposed.  “At  the  very  epoch  when  the  greatness  of  Burgundy 
was  most  swiftly  ripening  another  weapon  was  secretly  forging. 
New  style,  was  secretly  being  forged.  Here  is  the  third  volume 
of  Prescott’s  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella;”  let  us  open  it  at  ran- 
dom : “ From  the  moment  that  the  French  forces  had  descended 
into  Lombardy  the  eyes  of  all  Italy  were  turned  with  breath- 
less expectation  on  Gonsalvo  and  his  army  in  Italy.”  New 
style,  were  being  turned.  “ The  soldiers  loudly  complained  that 
their  general  found  treasures  to  squander  on  foreigners,  while 
his  own  troops  were  defrauded  of  their  pay.”  New  style,  were 
being  defrauded  of  their  pay.  “ Care  was  taken  at  the  same  time 
to  secure  a party  in  the  French  councils  to  the  interests  of  Fer- 
dinand.” New  style,  was  being  taken.  “Ferdinand  had  no 
better  fortune  at  Venice,  where  his  negotiations  were  conducted 
by  Lorenzo  Suarez  de  la  Vega.”  New  style,  were  being  con- 
ducted. “But  the  republic  was  too  sorely  pressed  by  the  Turk- 
ish war  to  allow  leisure  for  other  operations.”  New  style,  was 
being  pressed.  The  suggestions  of  the  Spanish  envoy  received 
additional  weight  from  the  report  of  a considerable  armament 
then  equipping  in  the  port  of  Malaga.”*  New  style,  being 


*“An  act  not  less  horrible  was  perpetrating  in  Eskdale.” — Macaulay.  “The  near- 
est chapel  where  divine  service  was  performing — Macaulay.  “This  new  tragedy 
was  acting .” — Edward  Everett.  “ Which  have  been  made  or  are  making.” — Henry 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS.  117 

equipped.  “In  consequence  of  these  inducements  some  of  Gon- 
salvo’s  men  were  found  to  desert  every  day,  while  those  who 
remained  were  becoming  hourly  more  discontented.”  Why  did 
not  Prescott  write  were  being  hourly  more  discontented l Simply 
because  he  knew  that  being  denotes  being  (present  existence), 
not  coming  to  be.  It  might  be  said  that  the  advocates  of  the 
new  style  would  hardly  write  “were  being  hourly  more  discon- 
tented.” But  this  would  be  a rash  assertion.  Some  of  them 
are  like  Horace’s  painter,  who,  believing  himself  to  be  skillful 
in  painting  cypress -trees,  wished  to  put  cypress -trees  even  in 
the  painting  of  a shipwreck.  A story  is  related  that  a certain 
preacher  was  accustomed  to  scatter  through  the  manuscript  of 
his  sermons,  as  a sort  of  stage  direction,  “ Cry  here.”  Some 
writers  seem  to  be  always  looking  out  for  a place  into  which 
they  can  thrust  is  being.  They  are  as  much  charmed  with  is 
being  as  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek  was  with  the  three  words  of 
Viola,  and  they  are  forever  getting  is  being  ready  for  use.  Like 
Mrs.  Sanders  in  the  trial  of  Mr.  Pickwick,  they  keep  their 
thumbs  on  the  springs  of  their  umbrellas,  ready  to  put  them  up 
on  the  slightest  provocation. 

To  prove  the  truth  of  the  statement,  let  us  open  this  news- 
paper. Here  we  find  such  as  the  following:  “The  same  old 
plays  of  years  ago  are  constantly  being  taken  down  from  the 
dusty  shelves  of  the  manager’s  room.”  “It  has  long  been 
known  by  the  department  at  Washington  that  contraband  goods 
were  being  constantly  landed  at  San  Francisco.”  “These  men 


Clay . “ The  whilst  this  play  is  playing .” — Shakespeare.  “ I saw  that  a way  was 

opening  for  the  establishment  of  real  liberty,  that  a foundation  was  laying  for  the 
deliverance  of  man.” — Milton.  “ While  the  temple  of  the  Lord  was  building .” — 
Milton.  “ Designs  are  carrying  on  against  their  liberties.” — Locke.  “He  begged 
the  honor  of  his  Majesty’s  accepting  a dinner  while  his  carriage  was  repairing , and 
while  the  dinner  was  preparing  begged  leave  to  amuse  his  Majesty  with  a collection 
of  pictures.” — Horace  Walpole.  “While  this  necessary  movement  row  — 

Janies  Fennimore  Cooper.  “An  attempt  is  making  in  the  English  Parliament.” 
— Daniel  Webster.  “ While  these  things  were  transacting  in  England.” — Bancroft. 
“While  innocent  blood  was  shedding  under  the  forms  of  justice  Parliament  met.” — 
Macaulay.  “ There  is  always  mason’s  work  doing.” — Ruskin.  “ The  excellent  edi- 
tion of  Shakespeare  now  publishing  in  Boston.” — George  P.  Marsh.  “Now  that  the 
deed  is  done  or  doing.” — Coleridge.  “The  fortress  was  building .” — Irving. 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


1 18 

that  are  now  being  prosecuted  and  investigated.”  “The  effort 
is  being  made  to  stir  up  strife  between  the  Protestant  and  Roman 
Catholic  churches.”  “ Examinations  are  being  held  in  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  schools  this  week.”  “Nine  persons  have  been 
baptized  since  the  commencement  of  the  revival  which  is  being 
conducted  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  C.”  “ He  takes  a lively  interest  in 

whatever  subject  is  being  discitssed  before  him.”  “Work  on  the 
new  German  Catholic  church  is  being  pushed  forward  rapidly.” 
“ This  is  a part  of  the  general  attack  that  is  being  7nade  against 
him  by  those  who  fear  his  nomination.”  “ R.  thought  we 
might  better  dispense  with  obituaries,  have  them  published  in 
the  transactions  without  being  read  before  the  society,  or  else 
observe  due  decorum  while  they  were  being  read.”  “The  gospel 
meetings  are  being  well  attended .”  “This  movement  is  being 
very  much  more  talked  of  than  is  generally  supposed.”  “The 
Evening  Post  says  it  is  being  rumored  in  well-informed  circles  in 
this  city.”  “The  translation  of  the  ‘Sacred  Books  of  the  East/ 
under  the  editorship  of  Prof.  Max  Mueller,  is  now  being  actively 
begun.”  The  writer  evidently  meant  by  this  that  the  translation 
is  actively  begun;  but  his  fondness  for  is  being  was,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  one  of  Dickens’s  characters,  “ too  many  for  him.” 
If  these  extracts  are  read  without  being,  it  will  be  seen  that  no 
being  is  needed  in  any  of  them.  As  Sir  Lucius  O’Trigger  says 
of  Mrs.  Malaprop’s  words,  being  as  used  in  such  passages  as  these 
“would  get  its  habeas  corpus  from  any  court  in  Christendom.” 
In  some  of  them  the  verbs  themselves  denote  continuous 
action;  in  others  the  context  shows  that  continuous  action  is 
meant.  If  we  say  that  a thing  is  continually  done,  we  need  no 
being  to  show  that  the  doing  is  continued. 

In  a recent  speech  John  Bright  pathetically  said,  “For  me 
the  final  chapter  is  now  writing;  it  may  be  already  written.” 
Suppose  he  had  said,  “For  me  the  final  chapter  is  now  being 
written;  it  may  already  be  written.”  In  that  case  we  could 
almost  wish  that  chapter  to  be  done  being  written.  Othello 
says  of  Cassio,  “I  would  have  him  nine  years  a killing.”  If 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


n9 

he  had  said,  “ I would  have  him  nine  years  a being  killed ,”  who 
would  say  that  he  killed  himself  a day  too  soon? 

One  gentleman  in  effect  takes  the  position  that  emphasis  on 
being  in  the  expression  being  built  changes  the  meaning  of  being, 
so  that  that  which  with  the  emphasis  on  built  denoted  a com- 
pleted state  now  denotes  merely  progress  toward  that  state. 
But  emphasis  does  not  change  the  meaning  of  a word;  it  only 
makes  the  meaning  more  prominent.  No  one  knows  this  better 
than  the  accomplished  gentleman  himself.  But  “ company,  vil- 
lainous company,  hath  been  the  spoil  of  him” — there  is  none 
of  us  that  has  not  at  some  time  been  led  astray  in  language  as 
well  as  other  things  by  villainous  company — and  his  ear  has 
become  so  accustomed  to  hearing  the  word  being  used  in  a 
“ progressive ” sense  that  that  sense  continually  thrusts  itself 
upon  him.  Though  he  should  drive  it  out  with  a pitchfork, 
that  sense  will  continually  run  back.  Take  this  sentence:  “The 
fire  should  not  have  been  kindled;  but  bemg  kindled  (since  it  is 
kindled),  it  must  burn  on.”  Here  being  kindled,  with  the  em- 
phasis on  being,  certainly  denotes  a completed  action,  and  em- 
phasis from  the  lungs  of  Stentor  himself  could  not  change  the 
meaning  of  being.  Emphasis  is  regulated  by  the  context  or 
other  circumstance,  and  it  never  changes  the  meaning  of  the 
emphatic  words.  The  gentleman  gives  another  illustration : 
“ Have  built,  with  the  emphasis  on  built , is  a simple  perfect; 
have  built,  with  emphasis  on  have  is  a present  causative.  Com- 
pare the  house  which  I had  built  with  the  house  which  I had 
built — the  one  pluperfect,  the  other  simple  past.”  In  this  it  is 
implied  that  emphasis  on  has  or  had  gives  the  word  a causative 
signification.  “I  wish  you  would  read  this  book.  Why,  I 
have  read  it.”  “They  wished  me  to  build  a new  house;  but  I 
thought  that  the  house  which  I had  built  was  good  enough.” 
Does  emphasis  on  have  and  had  in  such  sentences  as  these  give 
a causative  signification  to  these  words? 

In  “ the  house  is  building”  what  is  the  nature  of  the  word 
building ? It  is  a gerund,  a verbal  noun.  A gerund  merely 


120 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


presents  in  the  form  of  a noun  what  is  denoted  by  the  verb, 
and  whether  a gerund  in  any  passage  is  active  or  passive  is  de- 
termined by  the  context.  Beatrice,  speaking  of  Benedict,  says, 
“ I pray  you,  how  many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these  wars? 
But  how  many  hath' he  killed?  for  indeed  I promised  to  eat  all 
of  his  killing.”  Here  killing  is  active  in  sense.  When  Cassius 
learns  that  Brutus  during  their  quarrel  knew  of  the  terrible 
death  of  Portia  he  exclaims,  “ How  ’scaped  I killing  when  I 
crossed  you  so  ! ” Here  killing  has  a passive  sense.  Luciana 
in  “The  Comedy  of  Errors,”  believing  that  she  is  speaking  to 
the  husband  of  her  sister,  says : 

And  may  it  be  that  you  have  quite  forgot 
A husband’s  office?  Shall  unkind  debate 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love  thy  love-springs  rot  ? 

Shall  love  in  building  grow  so  ruinate  ? 

In  this  passage  building  is  passive  in  sense.  Horatio  says, 

If  he  steal  aught  the  whilst  this  play  is  playing 
And  ’scape  detecting,  I will  pay  the  theft. 

Here  the  two  gerunds  playing  and  detecting  are  used  in  a pas- 
sive sense.  The  assertion  may  seem  rash,  but  I will  venture 
to  make  it,  that  among  all  who  attended  at  the  performance  of 
“Hamlet,”  including  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  courtiers,  and  the 
citizens,  there  was  not  one  who  believed  that  Horatio  was  rep- 
resenting the  play  as  about  to  go  upon  the  stage  as  one  of  the 
actors. 

The  gerund  had  originally  the  preposition  on  expressed  be- 
fore it.  On  became  o’,  which  is  so  often  used  for  on  by  Shakes- 
peare; and  in  rapid  pronunciation  o’  could  not  be  distinguished 
from  a , which  became  established  as  a preposition.  “The 
house  is  on  building ” became  “The  house  is  o’  building’’  “The 
house  is  a building’’  “The  house  is  building , building  in  this  last 
form  being  the  object  of  a preposition  understood.  The  prep- 
osition in,  which  in  Anglo-Saxon  is  another  form  of  on,  has 
been  used;  as,  “Forty  and  six  years  was  this  temple  in  build - 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


121 


ingP — English  Bible . “ Whilst  these  sentences  are  in  reading .” — 
Book  of  Common  Pi'ayer . “ The  preliminaries  were  not  long  in 

arranging, .” — Lever . “ While  Tenderden  Steeple  was  in  build- 

ingP — Bishop  Latimer.  “ It  is  reported  to  have  taken  a year 
in  erecting .” — -John  Evelyn. 

The  modern  innovation  was  for  some  time  confined  to  the 
present  and  past  tenses;  but  one  recent  grammarian  dashes 
without  any  “ mitigation  or  remorse  of  voice  ” through  all  the 
tenses : “ I am  being  smitten,  I have  been  being  smitten,  I was 
being  smitten,  I had  been  being  smitten,  I shall  be  being  smit- 
ten, I shall  have  been  being  smitten,  I should  be  being  smitten, 
I should  have  been  being  smitten,  etc.” — English  Grammar,  by 
C.  P.  Mason , B.A.,  Fellow  of  the  University  College , London. 

One  advocate  of  is  being  built  says,  “When  the  form  first 
showed  itself  in  literature  is  immaterial;  it  had  doubtless  long 
before  existed  in  speech.”  It  sometimes  happens  that  language 
is  corrupted  by  what  some  seem  to  consider  a kind  of  deity, 
Common  Speech.  This  Common  Speech  may  introduce  such 
corruptions  as  most  for  almost , way  for  away ; but  Common 
Speech  does  not  change  “the  Miss  Browns”  to  “the  Misses 
Brown.”  It  is  easy  to  see  that  it  is  French  Affectation,  not 
Common  Speech,  that  strives  to  introduce  this  corruption. 
Common  Speech  is  not  for  ever  looking  out  for  opportunities 
to  make  changes.  Would  Common  Speech,  which  has  from 
generation  to  generation  said  “ the  first  hours  of  the  day,”  “ the 
first  years  of  his  life,”  have  made  the  discovery  that  there  can 
be  but  one  first? 

Some  are  greatly  charmed  with  the  idea  of  the  growth  of 
language.  It  is  not  all  change  that  is  growth,  unless  we  have 
such  a thing  as  growth  downward.  In  the  decline  of  the  Latin 
language,  which  kept  pace  with  the  decline  of  the  Latin  people, 
the  innovators  contended  that  the  changes  introduced  were  the 
result  of  growth.  When  the  name  Valens  was  not  considered 
strong  enough  and  grew  to  Valentins,  Valentinus,  and  Valentini- 
anus  the  Romans  thought  that  these  changes  indicated  growth. 


122 


SOME  VERBAL  FORMS. 


When  the  classical  language  of  Cicero,  Virgil,  and  Horace  was 
becoming  corrupted  (that  is,  was  being  corrupted)  by  rhetoricians 
and  courtiers  the  innovators  contended  that  the  language  must 
grow,  and  it  did  grow — in  a certain  direction.  The  first  empe- 
ror in  Rome  was  Augustus,  the  last  was  Augustulus  (Little 
Augustus);  so  the  lingua  Latina  by  the  process  of  growth  be- 
came what  may  be  called  the  lingua  Latinula . When  John 
Lyly  was  introducing  his  affectations  into  the  English  language 
he  regarded  himself  as  promoting  the  growth  of  the  language. 
When  the  young  courtier  Osric  was  pouring  forth  his  euphuisms 
he  no  doubt  looked  on  Hamlet  “ as  far  behind  the  age.”  When 
men  in  their  preaching  brought  in  their  “ crumbs  of  comfort 
baked  in  the  oven  of  charity  for  the  chickens  of  the  church, 
the  sparrows  of  the  spirit,  and  the  sweet  swallows  of  salvation” 
they  thought  they  were  contributing  to  the  growth  of  the  lan- 
guage. The  expression  “ idiomatic  life  and  growth”  is  sono- 
rous, but  it  may  sometimes  be  merely  a convenient  euphemism 
for  corruption  and  decay.  Change  in  itself  is  not  a good,  but 
an  evil.  The  greater  the  changes  we  make  in  our  language, 
the  greater  strangers  do  we  make  of  the  great  writers  in  our 
language;  and  it  is  on  account  of  this  fact  that  Milton  esteems 
worthy  of  so  great  honor  “the  man  who  strives  to  establish 
in  maxims  and  rules  the  method  and  habit  of  speaking  and 
writing  derived  from  a good  age  of  the  nation,  and,  as  it  were, 
to  fortify  the  same  round  with  a kind  of  wall,  the  daring  to 
overleap  which  a law  only  short  of  that  of  Romulus  should 
be  used  to  prevent.” 


LADY  MACBETH. 


AMONG  the  works  of  art  at  the  Centennial  Exposition  in 
Philadelphia  was  Maclise’s  painting  of  the  Banquet-scene 
in  “ Macbeth.’’  In  that  painting  Lady  Macbeth  is  represented 
as  a large  and  masculine  woman,  looking  as  if  she  could  and 
would  bear  down  every  thing  before  her.  With  one  hand  she 
holds  down  Macbeth,  and  with  the  other  she  commands  the 
guests  to  keep  their  seats.  She  looks  like  one  whose  requests 
are  commands.  This  painting  sets  forth  the  idea  generally 
entertained  of  Lady  Macbeth,  which  is  thus  expressed  by 
Steevens:  “ Shakespeare  has  supported  the  character  of  Lady 
Macbeth  by  repeated  efforts,  and  never  omits  an  opportunity 
of  adding  a trait  of  ferocity,  or  a mark  of  the  want  of  human 
feelings,  to  the  monster  of  his  own  creation.  The  softer  pas- 
sions are  more  obliterated  in  her  than  in  her  husband,  in 
proportion  as  her  ambition  is  greater.  She  meets  , him  here  on 
his  arrival  from  an  expedition  of  danger  with  such  a salutation 
as  would  become  one  of  his  friends  or  vassals;  a salutation 
apparently  fitted  rather  to  raise  his  thoughts  to  a level  with  her 
own  purposes  than  to  testify  her  joy  at  his  return  or  manifest 
an  attachment  to  his  person;  nor  does  any  expression  of  love 
or  softness  fall  from  her  throughout  the  play;  whilst  Macbeth 
himself,  amidst  the  horrors  of  his  guilt,  still  retains  a character 
less  fiend-like  than  that  of  his  queen,  talks  to  her  with  a degree 
of  tenderness,  and  pours  his  complaints  and  fears  into  her 
bosom,  accompanied  with  terms  of  endearment.”  Mrs.  Siddons 
and  Mrs.  Jameson  make  her  a less  hateful  character;  but  both 
represent  ambition  as  her  ruling  passion.  My  opinion  is  that 

(I23> 


124 


LADY  MACBETH. 


her  ruling  passion  is  love  for  her  husband,  a love  carried  to 
such  excess  that  all  other  feelings  are  subdued  to  it.  A thing 
that  is  good  when  properly  regulated  may  become  a great  evil 
when  in  excess ; an  excess  of  rain  destroys  the  crop  to  which  a 
moderate  amount  of  rain  is  absolutely  necessary;  sunshine  is 
necessary  to  plants,  but  an  excess  of  sunshine  kills  them.  He- 
rodotus says  of  the  Atarantes,  a people  of  Lybia,  “They  curse 
the  sun  when  at  his  height  and  rail  at  him  with  all  kinds  of 
abusive  words,  because  he  burns  and  destroys  both  the  men 
and  their  country.”  Humanity  is  liable  to 

“The  o’ergrowth  of  some  complexion 
Oft  breaking  down  the  pales  and  forts  of  reason.’’ 

In  her  castle  at  Inverness  Lady  Macbeth  has  in  the  absence 
of  her  husband  led  a lonely  life.  She  has  no  newspapers  to 
excite  an  interest  in  what  is  going  on  in  the  outer  world.  She 
hears  of  nothing  but  what  couriers  from  her  husband  tell  her 
of  his  valiant  deeds.  In  the  morning  she  awakes  to  think  of 
him.  At  the  board  her  thoughts  are  on  him  who  used  to  fill 
the  place  now  vacant.  If  she  walks  out  on  the  walls,  it  is  to 
peer  into  the  distance  for  some  courier  from  her  husband.  He 
is  her  world. 

One  day  while  she  is  anxiously  looking  out  a courier  arrives 
in  sweaty  haste  and  delivers  her  a letter.  She  seizes  it,  reads 
the  account  of  his  success  in  the  battle  and  of  the  meeting  with 
the  weird  sisters  on  the  blasted  heath.  The  letter  contains  a 
description  of  the  appearance  of  these  beings,  mentioning  them 
afterward  as  “ these  weird  sisters,”  which  shows  that  they  have 
been  already  described.  The  part  of  the  letter  which  she  reads 
at  her  first  appearance  is  not  the  part  which  contains  the  first 
mention  of  the  prophecy  that  Macbeth  is  to  be  king.  “ When 
I burned  in  desire  to  question  them  further ” shows  that  the 
writer  has  already  related  what  took  place  before  they  “ made 
themselves  air.”  She  has  read  the  letter  before,  perhaps  more 
than  once;  and  other  letters  have  passed  between  them  since 


LADY  MACBETH.  I 25 

the  first  reading.  She  says  that  she  has  received  letters , not 
merely  a letter  about  her  husband7 s becoming  king: 

Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 

This  ignorant  present,  and  I feel  now 

The  future  in  the  instant. 

In  one  letter  he  informed  her  of  his  intention  to  kill  the 
king  at  a certain  time  and  place,  and  she,  feeling  from  her 
knowledge  of  his  irresolute  character  that  the  attempt  would 
end  in  failure,  probably  remonstrated  with  him  in  her  reply. 
“Nor  time  nor  place  did  then  adhere 77  refers  to  the  time  of  his 
writing  or  to  the  time  he  had  selected  for  the  execution  of  his 
purpose.  She  may  at  first  have  tried  to  divert  him  from  his 
intention  to  commit  murder.  However  this  may  be,  she  sees 
that  his  resolution  is  fixed,  and  that  he  will  never  be  satisfied 
till  he  shall  be  king.  She  knows  that  he  is  irresolute,  that  he 
will  make  himself  miserable  by  longing  for  that  which  he  will 
not  “catch  the  nearest  way77  to  attain.  Her  affection  makes 
her  give  a favorable  coloring  to  his  character,  and  she  calls  his 
irresolution  “the  milk  of  human  kindness.77  But  nowhere  in 
his  whole  course  does  “the  milk  of  human  kindness77  show 
itself.  He  murders  men,  women,  and  children — whoever 
stands  in  his  way.  When  he  hesitates  it  is  from  fear  of  the 
consequences;  he  fears  that  the  “bloody  instructions77  will 
“return  to  plague  the  inventor;77  he  fears  that  it  will  not  be 
“done  when  7t  is  done;77  that  “the  assassination 77  will  not  “tram- 
mel up  the  consequence.77  If  he  could  be  saved  from  the 
consequences  “here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time,77  he 
would  disregard  “the  life  to  come.77  When  he  thinks  of  the 
virtues  of  Duncan  he  fears  that  the  love  which  the  character  of 
the  good  king  has  gained  will  be  fraught  with  dangerous  conse- 
quences to  the  murderer,  that  his  virtues  will  plead  like  angels 
trumpet-tongued  against  the  “deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off.77 
He  does  not  “ catch  the  nearest  way,77  which  is  to  do  the  mur- 
der himself;  but  he  employs  agents,  and  in  the  houses  of  the 


126 


LADY  MACBETH. 


thanes  he  has  his  spies  to  tell  him  whom  to  kill.  Even  when 
he  believes  that  Macduff  has  no  power  to  harm  him  he  deter- 
mines to  kill  him,  to  “make  assurance  double  sure  and  take  a 
bond  of  fate.”  And  when  he  finds  that  Macduff  has  escaped 
him  he  determines  to 

Give  to  the  edge  of  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line. 

When  Lady  Macbeth  finds  that  her  husband  is  determined 
to  gain  the  crown  by  the  murder  of  the  king  she  resolves  to 
give  him  all  the  support  and  assistance  in  her  power,  to  drive 
away  that  torturing  irresolution,  and  make  an  end  of  the  busi- 
ness. Her  love  prevents  her  from  regarding  the  criminality  of 
the  act  which  her  husband  has  in  his  thoughts. 

‘ 1 1 know  not,  I ask  not  if  guilt ’s  in  that  heart, 

I but  know  that  I love  thee,  whatever  thou  art.” 

Some  have  seemed  to  look  upon  Lady  Macbeth  as  the  first 
to  suggest  the  murder,  but  Macbeth’s  own  mind  suggested  the 
crime  before  he  wrote  the  first  letter.  Just  after  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  witches  he  says: 

This  supernatural  soliciting 
Can  not  be  ill,  can  not  be  good ; if  ill, 

Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success, 

Commencing  in  a truth  ? I am  thane  of  Cawdor. 

If  good,  why  do  I yield  to  that  suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs 
Against  the  use  of  nature  ? Present  fears 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings. 

My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 

Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man  that  function 
Is  smothered  in  surmise,  and  nothing  is 
But  what  is  not. 

“That  suggestion”  was  the  murder  of  his  king.  This  was 
before  Malcolm  was  named  “Prince  of  Cumberland.”  This 


LADY  MACBETH.  127 

appointment  of  Malcolm  as  heir  to  the  crown  serves  to  inten- 
sify the  “ suggestion.” 

The  Prince  of  Cumberland ! That  is  a step 
On  which  I must  fall  down  or  else  overleap, 

For  in  my  way  it  lies.  Stars,  hide  your  fires; 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires ; 

The  eye  wink  at  the  hand ; yet  let  that  be 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

He  has  resolved  upon  the  murder,  though  his  vacillating 
spirit  sometimes  leads  him  to  hope  that  he  may  become  king 
without  the  murder;  but,  whatever  means  may  be  necessary, 
he  is  determined  to  be  king.  The  weird  sisters  are  the  outward 
projections  of  his  own  murderous  thoughts,  as  the  gigantic 
Spectre  of  the  Brocken  is  the  projection  of  the  form  of  the 
person  that  sees  it;  they  are  his  thoughts  materialized,  while  to 
Banquo  they  are  merely  external  phenomena,  bubbles  of  the 
earth. 

When  she  learns  that  her  husband  is  soon  to  arrive  Lady 
Macbeth  opens  again  that  letter  which  relates  the  meeting  with 
the  weird  sisters.  When  Charlotte  Cushman  read  this  passage : 
“ When  I burned  in  desire  to  question  them  further  they  made 
themselves  air,”  at  the  word  “air”  she  gave  a start  which 
expressed  the  utmost  astonishment;  her  notion  being  that  this 
is  the  first  reading  of  the  only  letter  that  the  lady  has  received 
on  the  subject  of  the  meeting  and  the  prophetic  announcement, 
though  this  notion  is  contrary  to  Lady  Macbeth’s  own  state- 
ment that  she  has  received  “letters”  on  the  subject.  The  lady 
has  ambition,  no  doubt;  but  her  ruling  passion  is  love  for  her 
husband.  ...  . . . 

“In  this  one  passion  man  can  strength  enjoy, 

As  fits  give  vigor  just  when  they  destroy.” 

She  sees  well  what  is  wanting  in  her  husband: 

Thou  ’dst  have,  great  Glamis, 

That  which  cries, “Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it; 

And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 


128 


LADY  MACBETH. 


Than  wishest  should  be  undone.’  Hie  thee  hither, 

That  I may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear, 

And  chastise  with  the  valor  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round 
Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crowned  withal. 

Now  the  messenger  enters  and  announces  the  coming  of  the 
king.  Notwithstanding  this  energetic  soliloquy,  she  is  not  a 
strong  woman,  and  she  feels  that  she  is  not  strong. 

Come,  you  spirits 

That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here. 

“ Unsex  me”  means  “take  away  all  the  tender  and  merciful 
feelings  that  belong  to  my  sex,  and  which  I feel  belong  to  me 
as  one  of  that  sex — take  away  all  those  feminine  feelings  that 
would  interfere  with  my  husband’s  design  of  gaining  the  crown 
by  the  murder  of  him  that  now  wears  it.” 

And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe  top-full 

Of  direst  cruelty. 

4 

This  implies  that  she  does  not  consider  herself  full  of  direst 
cruelty.  One  can  not  fill  a vessel  that  is  already  full.  She 
fears  that  remorse,  “the  compunctious  visitings  of  nature”  may 
“ shake  her  full  purpose,”  or  make  her  pause  before  the  purpose 
is  accomplished.  Every  thing  shows  that  to  free  herself  from 
her  natural  character  she  has  to  make  great  exertions. 

Come  to  my  woman’s  breasts 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers, 

Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  wait  on  nature’s  mischief. 

She  prays  that  something  outside  of  herself,  the  invisible 
ministers  that  urge  on  to  murder,  may  change  the  tenderness 
which  she  feels  that  as  a woman  she  possesses,  to  direst  cruelty, 
the  milk  of  human  kindness  to  gall.  She  calls  for  the  deepest 
darkness,  fearing  that  the  slightest  gleam  of  the  knife  may 


LADY  MACBETH. 


I29 


frighten  her  from  her  purpose;  for  she  expects,  in  order  to 
catch  the  nearest  way,  to  have  to  do  the  deed  herself. 

Come,  thick  night, 

And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell, 

That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 

Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark 
To  cry  “Hold,  hold!” 

Now  enters  Macbeth,  and  so  spasmodic  is  the  effort  to  screw 
her  courage  to  the  sticking-place  that  she  fails  to  give  him  an 
affectionate  reception;  she  can  not  relax  the  tension  of  her 
nerves  without  losing  all  that  up  to  which  she  has  wrought  her- 
self; she  must  go  impetuously  forward;  if  the  fit  is  checked 
the  vigor  is  gone. 

When  Antonio  in  “The  Tempest ” is  suggesting  to  Sebastian 
to  make  himself  king  by  the  murder  of  his  brother,  the  latter 
pretends  that  he  does  not  understand,  though  all  the  time  he 
cherishes  the  purpose  in  his  heart.  Antonio  says  to  him, 

O! 

If  you  but  knew  how  you  the  purpose  cherish 
While  you  thus  mock  it ! how  in  stripping  it 
You  more  invest  it ! 

And  the  hypocrite  talks  as  if  he  wished  that  Ferdinand  is 
not  drowned,  speaks  of  Claribel  as  the  heir  to  the  throne  of 
Naples,  and  mentions  conscience.  So  Macbeth  acts  the  hypo- 
crite, and  when  his  wife  exclaims, 

Great  Glamis ! worthy  Cawdor ! 

Greater  than  both  by  the  all-hail  hereafter ! 

Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  I feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant, 

he  affects  calmness  and  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice,  speaks  as  if 
he  had  never  thought  of  such  a thing  as  murder  and  hardly 
knew  what  it  is: 

My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 


i3° 


LADY  MACBETH. 


To  her  question,  “And  when  goes  hence ?”  he  replies,  “To- 
morrow, as  he  purposes,”  as  coolly  as  if  he  were  going  to  add, 
“ Perhaps  we  may  induce  him  to  stay  longer.”  But  his  wife 
sees  in  his  face  what  she  fears  others  may  see: 

O ! never  shall  sun  that  morrow  see ! 

Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a book  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters.  To  beguile  the  time, 

Look  like  the  time. 

Only  look  up  clear; 

To  alter  favor  ever  is  to  fear. 


When  after  Macbeth’s  first  soliloquy  in  his  castle  his  wife 
enters  he  makes  another  hypocritical  speech: 

We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business; 

He  hath  honored  me  of  late ; and  I have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 

Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 

Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 


She  understands  him,  knows  that  his  object  is  to  get  her 
support,  and  she  answers  with  spasmodic  vehemence, 

Was  the  hope  drunk 

Wherein  you  dressed  yourself?  Hath  it  slept  since? 

And  wakes  it  now  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely  ? From  this  time 
Such  I account  thy  love.  Art  thou  afear’d 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valor 
As  thou  art  in  desire?  Wouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem’st  the  ornament  of  life, 

And  live  a coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 

Letting  ‘ I dare  not  ’ wait  upon  4 1 would,’ 

Like  the  poor  cat  i’  the  adage  ? 


Like  Sebastian,  the  husband  keeps  up  this  transparent 
hypocrisy : 


Prithee,  peace : 

I dare  do  all  that  may  become  a man ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 


LADY  MACBETH. 


!3I 

The  lady  remembering  his  declarations  of  his  purpose, 
becomes  disgusted  at  his  talk  of  what  is  becoming  to  a man 
and  exclaims, 

What  beast  was ’t,  then, 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 

When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a man ; 

And  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.  Nor  time  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both : 

They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.  I have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  ’t  is  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me; 

I would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 

Have  plucked  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums 
And  dashed  the  brains  out,  had  I so  sworn 
As  you  have  done  to  this. 

When  the  mother  says  she  would  dash  out  the  brains  of  her 
child  she  is  in  a spasm  of  excitement;  she  who  is  deterred 
from  killing  the  king  by  his  resemblance  to  her  father,  and  who 
can  say  that  she  knows  how  tender  it  is  to  love  the -babe  that 
milks  her,  is  not  the  woman  to  dash  out  the  brains  of  that  babe. 

All  through  this  scene  runs  the  idea  that  Macbeth  was  the 
first  to  suggest  the  murder;  he  was  so  blindly  eager  to  do  the 
murder  that  he  proposed  to  perpetrate  it  when  time  and  place 
were  strong  both  against  the  deed;  to  screw  his  courage  to  the 
sticking-place  he  had  taken  the  strongest  oath  to  do  the  murder. 

What  beast  was ’t  then 
That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 

Nor  time  nor  place 

Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both. 

Had  I so  sworn 
As  you  have  done  to  this. 

Both  Lady  Macbeth  and  her  husband  have  understood  that 
they  are  to  do  the  murder  together.  She  says, 

When  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie  as  in  a death 


i32 


LADY  MACBETH. 


What  can  not  yoti  and  I perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan  ? What  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 
Of  our  great  quell  ? 

And  Macbeth  says: 

Will  it  not  be  received 

When  we  have  marked  with  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Of  his  own  chamber  and  used  their  very  daggers, 

That  they  have  done  ’ t ? 

Lady  Macbeth  joins  herself  with  her  husband  in  order  to 
give  him  resolution  by  making  him  feel  that  he  is  to  have  the 
support  of  her  presence  and  assistance.  This  promise  to  assist 
in  the  murder  makes  him  exclaim, 

Bring  forth  men  children  only ; 

For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males. 

The  lady  does  not  yet  consider  herself  sufficiently  unsexed, 
and  to  prepare  in  herself  the  requisite  degree  of  boldness  and 
fire,  she  resorts  to  intoxication;  as  the  Old  Man  of  the  Moun- 
tain prepared  his  followers  for  their  murderous  deeds  by  intox- 
icating them  with  hasheesh. 

That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made  me  bold ; 

What  hath  quenched  them  hath  given  me  fire. 

With  the  boldness  and  fire  thus  artificially  produced,  she 
determines  to  do  the  murder  herself,  in  order  to  save  her  hus- 
band as  much  as  possible  from  the  “ compunctious  visitings  of 
nature.”  She  goes  into  Duncan’s  chamber;  but  as  she  bends 
over  the  sleeping  king  she  sees  a likeness  to  her  father,  and  for 
a moment  she  is  sexed  again.  The  tender  feelings  of  daugh- 
terly affection  rush  to  her  heart,  and  she  withdraws  from  the 
chamber  to  her  husband,  whom  she  tells  that  she  has  laid  the 
daggers  ready  for  him  and  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  strike. 
While  he  is  about  the  deed  she  stands  intently  listening  to 
every  sound.  She  hears  a noise  and  starts,  saying  in  an  ago- 


LADY  MACBETH. 


*33 


nized  whisper,  “ Hark ! Peace ! ” But  it  was  only  the  shriek  of 
the  owl.  She  hears  Macbeth,  who  thinks  there  is  some  one  in 
the  court,  cry  out,  “ Who  7s  there?  what  ho!”  and  she  expresses 
her  fear  that  he  has  made  the  attempt  and  failed.  She  thinks 
now  it  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  done  the  deed,  and 
she  makes  the  resemblance  to  her  father  a kind  of  apology  to 
herself. 

Now  Macbeth  rushes  in  and  announces  that  he  has  done  the 
deed.  In  the  most  cowardly  manner  he  whines  to  make  his 
wife  bear  his  burden.  It  is  too  heavy  for  her,  and  she  sinks 
under  it.  She  makes  every  effort  to  quiet  him,  and  in  her 
anxiety  to  save  him  she  concentrates  all  her  strength  in  one 
exhausting  effort,  and  takes  the  daggers  back  to  “the  place.” 
Every  one  feels  the  profoundest  contempt  for  him  who  makes 
his  wife  thus  suffer  for  him.  He  has  the  power  to  control  his 
feelings,  as  he  shows  by  his  calmness  when  he  conducts  Macduff 
to  the  door  of  the  fatal  chamber ; but  before  his  wife  he  acts  in 
a manner  suited  to  make  her  mad.  She  says : 

A little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed ; 

How  easy  is  it,  then  ! 

But  the  blood  has  sunk  into  the  soul,  where  no  water  can 
reach  it.  She  feels  madness  approaching: 

These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 
After  these  ways ; so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

She  rushes  into  the  place  where  the  excited  thanes  are  dis- 
cussing the  murder,  and  after  a vain  effort  to  disguise  her  feelings 
she  faints  and  is  carried  out;  the  thoughts  of  the  selfish  hus- 
band are  centered  on  himself,  and  he  pays  no  attention  to  her 
condition.  He  does  not  think  she  is  feigning;  for,  if  he  did, 
he  would  feign  to  be  very  much  concerned,  in  order  to  assist  in 
the  deception. 

At  her  next  appearance  she  sends  a message  to  her  husband, 
now  king,  that  she  would  attend  his  leisure  for  a few  words. 


*34 


LADY  MACBETH. 


While  she  is  waiting  for  him  her  despair  expresses  itself  in  the 
saddest  words : 

Nought ’s  had,  all ’s  spent, 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content. 

’T  is  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 


But  when  her  husband  enters  she  conceals  her  pain,  like  the 
Spartan  boy  who  suppressed  all  signs  of  suffering  while  the  fox 
was  gnawing  to  his  heart.  She  urges  him  to  forget  the  past: 

How  now,  my  lord ! Why  do  you  keep  alone, 

Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companious  making; 

Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died 
With  them  they  think  on  ? Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard.  What ’s  done  is  done. 

She  fears  that  at  the  banquet  which  is  to  be  held  the  coming 
night  he  will  expose  himself : 

' Come  on ; 

Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o’er  your  rugged  looks ; 

Be  bright  and  jovial  among  your  guests  to-night. 

At  the  banquet  she  seats  herself  on  the  throne,  with  the  res- 
olution to  support  her  husband  in  his  efforts  to  be  bright  and 
jovial  among  his  guests.  She  attempts  to  act  the  part  of  the  dig- 
nified queen;  but  the  mask  can  not  altogether  hide  the  misery 
behind  it.  When  her  husband  is  betraying  himself  at  sight  of 
the  ghost  of  the  murdered  Banquo  she  does  all  she  can  to  save 
him;  she  descends  from  the  throne  and  remonstrates  with  him. 
When  she  finds  that  this  is  ineffectual  she  hastily  dismisses  the 
company,  lest  he  should  expose  himself  more  completely.  It 
might  be  expected  that  in  a fit  of  vexation  she  would  reproach 
him  for  his  unmanly  conduct;  but  she  utters  no  reproach,  gives 
no  sign  of  vexation.  When  he  asks  her  the  time  of  night  she 
answers  in  a tone  the  mildness  of  which  makes  it  sad : 


Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 


LADY  MACBETH. 


135 

When  he  asks  her  what  she  says  about  Macduff’s  refusing  to 
come  to  the  banquet  she  says  in  a tone  that  shows  she  has 
abandoned  hope,  “Did  you  send  to  him,  sir?”  She  has  been 
struck  with  paralysis  of  the  soul.  She  lives  no  longer  in  the 
world  around  her;  but  in  the  affliction  of  her  terror  what 
passes  as  her  life  is  spent  in  living  over  that  dreadful  night. 
The  past  is  her  present.  That  sleep-walking  scene,  the  most 
terribly  sublime  in  all  literature,  tells  the  tale.  We  are  now 
prepared  for  that  dreadful  cry  of  women  and  for  “The  queen, 
my  lord,  is  dead.” 


FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY. 


IF  a menagerie  containing  some  very  remarkable  animals 
should  arrive  in  our  city,  all  who  take  any  interest  in  the 
works  of  nature  would  hasten  to  visit  it.  They  would  pull  out 
their  “dimes”  and  distribute  them  cheerfully  among  their  chil- 
dren, admonishing  the  little  ones  to  learn  all  in  their  power 
about  the  appearance  and  habits  of  the  animals,  and  consider 
the  “dimes”  exceedingly  well  spent.  Let  us  suppose  an  adver- 
tisement of  a menagerie  of  this  kind.  We  can  imagine  one 
that  would  be  expressed  in  words  like  these — for  the  exhibitors 
of  menageries  sometimes  use  rather  lofty  language : 

“THE  WONDER  OF  THE  WORLD!! 

Grand  and  Sublime  Attraction  ! 

The  Most  Stupendous  Menagerie  the  World  has  ever  seen  ! ! 

“ Messrs.  Caraboy  & Expense  will  exhibit  to  the  Louisville 
public  on  the  29th  proximo  their  wonderful  and  unrivaled  men- 
agerie, comprising  the  greatest  marvels  of  creation ! 

“Among  the  wonders  in  their  collection  is  a lion  ! unlike 
every  other  lion  that  has  been  exhibited  in  our  country,  both  in 
appearance  and  habits.  It  is  so  terrible  in  appearance  that  it  is 
obliged  to  hide  itself  in  its  den  when  it  waits  for  its  prey  to 
approach.  Its  head  is  armed  with  very  remarkable  flexible 
horns  terrible  to  behold.  If  any  of  the  animals  on  which  it 
preys  venture  to  look  into  its  den  they  are  doomed.  It  seizes 
them  furiously  between  its  flexible  horns  and  ferociously  sucks 
all  the  juice  from  their  bodies.  If  its  prey  attempts  to  escape, 
the  lion,  wonderful  and  incredible  as  the  statement  may  seem, 
actually  discharges  at  the  escaping  animal  a volley  of  stones 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY.  137 

and  earth,  a full  supply  of  which  it  keeps  constantly  on  hand. 
At  the  entrance  of  the  den  might  be  appropriately  written  the 
inscription  which  Dante  has  placed  over  the  gates  of  hell,  “ Let 
him  that  enters  here  abandon  all  hope!57  The  carcasses  of  its 
unhappy  victims  it  throws  out  of  its  den  that  others  may  not  be 
deterred  from  entering  the  cave  of  this  Giant  Despair.  But  the 
limits  of  an  advertisement  will  not  permit  us  to  enter  into  a 
fuller  description  of  this  terrible  lion.  Books  giving  a complete 
account  of  its  habits,  etc.,  will  be  offered  for  sale  on  the  day  of 
exhibition.  ......... 

“ One  of  the  most  wonderful  objects  in  this  wonderful  col- 
lection is  an  animal  with  immensely  long  arms,  which  has  the 
power  of  erecting  the  fore  part  of  its  body  and  extending  its 
arms  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  Its  sanctimonious  aspect  has 
made  it  in  some  countries  the  object  of  religious  veneration. 

“We  give  these  only  as  samples  of  the  marvels  of  this  most 
wonderful  of  all  menageries.  The  largest  volume  would  be 
insufficient  to  describe  the  collection.  There  are  other  facts 
connected  with  these  animals  which  the  proprietors  hesitate  to 
mention,  lest  the  apparent  incredibility  of  the  facts  should  deter 
the  public  from  visiting  the  collection.  Yet,  with  truth  on  their 
side,  they  will  run  the  risk.  The  wonderful  lion  they  have 
mentioned  in  about  two  years  from  its  first  appearance  actually 
takes  wings  and  flies  away ! a total  change  having  been  made 
in  its  appearance  and  habits ! ! 

“During  the  stay  of  this  menagerie  it  is  hoped  that  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  city  will  visit  it,  that  all  may  learn 
what  a wonderful  world  is  that  which  they  inhabit!” 

We  must  suppose  this  advertisement  garnished  with  an  indef- 
inite number  of  capital  letters  and  notes  of  admiration  ad  libitum. 
With  all  this  it  would  tell  nothing  but  the  truth  in  regard  to  the 
wonders  of  the  animal  kingdom.  The  lion  the  entomologist  will 
recognize  as  the  myrmeleon  formicaleo , or  ant-lion;  the  other  is 
the  mantis.  There  are  wonders  throughout  creation — it  is  not 
the  telescope  alone  that  discloses  them.  The  same  Great  Being 


12 


138  EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY. 

with  one  hand  throws  a world  into  infinite  space,  and  with  the 
other  sows  the  seeds  of  life  in  a drop  of  water.  To  be  filled 
with  admiration  of  the  Creator,  it  is  not  necessary  to  look 
through  the  telescope,  when  world  after  world  flashes  upon  the 
eye;  nor  to  look  through  the  microscope,  which  transforms  a 
drop  of  water  into  a world.  We  have  only  to  open  our  eyes. 

The  ant-lion  is  so  common  an  insect  in  our  country,  and  so 
remarkable  in  its  habits,  that  I will  undertake  to  give  some 
account  of  it.  How  many  boyish  hours  have  I spent  calling, 
“ Doodle!  doodle !”  over  the  funnel-shaped  holes  of  these 
insects!  In  German  universities,  for  one  student  to  call  an- 
other dumme  junge , stupid  youngster,  is  equivalent  to  a challenge. 
The  ant-lion,  in  this  point,  is  a German  student.  If  you  call 
him  a doodle,  or  simple  fellow,  you  call  him  out,  and  he  pre- 
pares to  shoot. 

This  insect  seems  to  be  one  of  the  most  helpless  beings  in 
existence.  He  lives  on  the  juices  of  other  animals,  particularly 
of  ants;  and  yet  he  can  not  advance  a step  toward  them.  He 
can  move  only  backward,  and  that  very  slowly.  Besides,  he  is 
an  epicure  and  will  taste  of  no  animal  except  such  as  he  has 
himself  killed.  What  is  he  to  do  ? The  ants  are  not  likely  to 
run  to  his  ugly  embrace;  and  if  he  himself  moves,  he  can  only 
“back  out.”  But  this  backward  motion  at  last  enables  him  to 
reach  his  object;  though,  it  must  be  confessed,  in  a roundabout 
way.  He  chooses  a spot  suitable  for  his  purpose,  and  then  by 
a circular,  retrograde  movement,  traces  out  a circular  furrow; 
then  placing  himself  on  the  inside  of  this  furrow,  he  thrusts 
under  the  sand  the  hind  part  of  his  body,  which  is  pointed 
like  a plowshare;  he  uses  one  of  his  fore  legs  as  a shovel,  and 
throws  the  sand  on  his  flat  head ; then  by  a quick  motion  of  his 
head  he  throws  the  sand  off  to  a distance.  The  whole  process 
is  very  much  like  digging  a cellar  among  the  race  of  men.  He 
has  his  plow  and  his  shovel,  using  his  head  as  a kind  of  cart. 
The  little  stones  he  places  upon  his  head,  and  jerks  out  as  he 
does  the  sand.  If  he  should  meet  with  one  too  heavy  to  be 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY.  139 

disposed  of  in  this  way,  he  deliberately  places  it  upon  his  back 
and  walks  off  with  it. 

After  he  has  completed  his  conical  den  he  places  himself  at 
the  bottom  to  wait  for  prey.  Knowing  that  his  personal  appear- 
ance is  no  recommendation,  he  conceals  all  his  body  except  the 
points  of  his  expanded  forceps.  A Paul  Pry  of  an  ant  passes 
along,  and  concludes  to  “look  in.”  But  he  pays  dearly  for  his 
curiosity;  for  the  treacherous  sand  gives  way,  and  his  struggles 
only  assist  to  bring  him  into  the  jaws  of  the  lion.  If  there 
should  be  any  prospect  of  his  escape,  his  terrible  enemy  shovels 
up  a load  of  sand  and  discharges  it  at  him.  If  this  is  not  suf- 
ficient, a second  discharge  generally  brings  him  down. 

After  living  in  this  way  for  about  two  years  the  ant-lion 
passes  into  the  pupa  state.  It  glues  together  a crust  that  sur- 
rounds its  body.  It  then  spins  a thread  infinitely  finer  than 
that  of  the  silk-worm,  and  weaves  for  the  interior  of  its  dwelling 
a satin  tapestry  exquisitely  tinged  with  the  color  of  pearls.  Here 
it  remains  for  about  two  months,  preparing  for  the  great  change. 
Its  ugly  skin  and  paws  fall  off,  and  it  comes  forth  regenerated 
and  disenthralled.  It  is  now  a large  and  beautiful  fly,  resem- 
bling the  dragon-fly.  With  expanded  wings  it  gayly  sports 
about  in  the  new  world  that  is  opened  before  it.  It  has  lost  its 
gloomy  disposition,  and  its  heart  is  now  as  light  as  its  wings.  It 
is  Giant  Despair  transformed  into  golden  Hope.  The  change 
could  not  be  greater  if  the  Satan  of  the  popular  mythology, 
with  horns,  tail,  and  hoof,  should  take  the  wings  and  face  and 
disposition  of  an  angel  of  light.  ..... 

Among  the  orthoptera  one  of  the  most  remarkable  insects  is 
the  mantis.  This  insect  is  called  in  our  vernacular  “ the  devil’s 
race-horse.”  Why  this  name  is  given  to  it  I can  not  tell,  as  the 
animal  is  not  remarkable  for  its  locomotive  powers,  and  the 
individual  to  whom  it  is  assigned  is  considered  one  of  the 
fast  ones.  Perhaps  the  name  is  on  the  principle  of  lucus  a non 
lucendo , or  “Nick  Bottom’s  dream,  because  it  has  no  bottom.” 
The  name  mantis , from  the  Greek,  is  of  quite  different  import, 


140  EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY. 

signifying  seer  or  prophet.  As  was  said  before,  the  mantis 
religiosa , or  praying  mantis,  is,  in  some  countries,  the  object  of 
superstitious  reverence.  An  old  author  says,  “So  divine  a 
creature  is  this  esteemed,  that  if  a child  ask  the  way  to  such 
a place,  she  will  stretch  out  one  of  her  feet  and  show  him  the 
right  way,  and  seldom  or  never  misse.”  The  reason  these 
insects  have  a sacred  character  attached  to  them  is  that  they 
will  raise  their  bodies  and  remain  for  hours  with  their  arms 
stretched  out  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  But  woe  to  the  fly  that 
places  confidence  in  this  sanctimonious  attitude!  When  the 
mantis  sees  a fly  it  never  takes  its  eyes  off  its  intended  prey. 
It  moves  forward  almost  imperceptibly,  so  as  to  conceal  its 
approaches  from  its  victim.  When  near  enough,  those  praying 
hands  descend  like  lightning — its  prey  is  in  the  jaws  of  fate 
and  is  devoured  limb  by  limb.  The  destroyer  then  cleans  his 
jaws  and  head,  stretches  his  arms,  and  waits  for  another  victim. 
In  listening  to  some  prayers  I have  found  myself  obliged  to 
think  of  the  mantis.  There  are  mantes  in  a class  of  animals 
that  have  not  so  many  legs  as  the  one  before  us.  Look  at  that 
man  with  his  arms  stretched  out,  and  rounding  and  polishing 
the  sentences  which  he  pretends  to  be  addressing  to  the  Deity. 
He  seems  to  be  praying,  but  he  is  only  watching  for  his  prey. 
He  is  a mantis,  watching  for  applause.  He  who  “ delivered  the 
most  eloquent  prayer  ever  addressed  to  a Boston  congregation  ” 
was  a mantis.  Whoever,  forgetting  the  severe  simplicity  which 
an  address  to  the  Deity  demands,  suffers  himself  to  make  use  of 
his  prayer  to  address  the  congregation,  even  if  it  be  to  enforce 
religious  truth,  is  a mantis.  Much  more  is  he  a mantis  who 
stretches  out  his  hands  to  acquire  a reputation  for  sanctity  or 
to  gain  the  applause  of  the  listeners  or  to  accomplish  any  other 
private  end. 

The  construction  of  the  fore  leg  of  the  mantis  is  not  unlike 
that  of  a sabre.  With  this  sabre  the  insect  can  take  off  heads 
in  the  most  dexterous  manner.  When  two  mantes  are  confined 
together  they  are  seized  with  the  greatest  fury.  They  rush  at 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY.  141 

each  other,  cutting  away  with  their  sabres,  as  Roesel  says,  like 
two  infuriated  hussars.  The  Chinese  are  said  to  keep  them  in 
separate  cages  for  the  purpose  of  having  them  to  fight,  like 
game-cocks  among  us.  And  yet  they  are  so  cowardly  that  they 
will  turn  away  from  an  ant  in  the  greatest  terror. 

The  Arabians  represent  the  locust  as  saying  to  Mohammed, 
“We  are  the  army  of  the  Great  God;  we  produce  ninety-nine 
eggs;  if  the  hundred  were  completed,  we  should  consume  the 
whole  earth  and  all  that  is  in  it.”  And  indeed  no  greater  plague 
than  this  insect  has  ever  visited  the  earth.  The  accounts  given 
of  its  ravages  and  of  the  famine  and  pestilence  it  has  caused 
are  among  the  most  horrible  that  history  presents.  Mighty  con- 
querors have  spread  ruin  and  desolation;  but  they  have  done 
nothing  to  equal  the  deeds  of  the  locust.  The  most  “glorious” 
conqueror  that  has  overrun  the  earth,  though  he  may  have  left 
over  whole  countries  widows  and  orphans  wailing  in  burning 
cities,  must  yield  the  palm  to  a greater  destroyer  than  himself, 
and  acknowledge  his  inferiority  to  the  locust.  Alexander  and 
Bonaparte  created  consternation  in  their  march;  but  their  ap- 
proach did  not  altogether  destroy  hope,  and  they  did  not  leave 
behind  them  remediless  ruin.  But  imagine  a country  in  the 
enjoyment  of  profound  peace,  the  earth  covered  with  a growing 
crop  that  promises  a rich  reward  to  the  labors  of  the  husband- 
man. While  the  farmer  is  looking  at  the  crop  and  congratu- 
lating himself  upon  the  prospect,  a black  cloud  appears  in  the 
distance;  the  whole  sky  is  darkened;  and  a roaring  sound,  like 
that  of  a flame  of  fire  rushing  before  the  wind,  announces  the 
coming  of  the  instruments  of  destruction.  Every  green  thing  is 
covered  with  them  and  immediately  stripped  of  every  sign  of 
verdure.  In  the  sublime  language  of  the  prophet  Joel,  it  is 
“a  day  of  darkness  and  of  gloominess,  a day  of  clouds  and  of 
thick  darkness.”  “A  fire  devoureth  before  them,  and  behind 
them  a flame  burneth ; the  land  is  as  the  Garden  of  Eden  before 
them,  and  behind  them  a desolate  wilderness.”  Nothing  can 
be  more  expressive  than  this  sublime  description.  Nature 


142  EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY. 

suffers  a change  like  that  which  would  take  place  if  a human 
being  glowing  with  health  and  beauty  should  suddenly  become 
a putrid  corpse.  And  when  these  insects  die  the  end  is  not 
yet.  When  dead  they  often  cover  the  earth  to  the  depth  of 
several  feet  and  emit  a stench  that  breeds  the  most  noisome 
pestilence.  Thousands  upon  thousands  in  a small  extent  of 
country  have  fallen  victims  in  one  visitation  of  these  dreadful 
insects.  In  an  account  of  one  of  these  visitations  in  Africa  it 
is  said  that  the  locusts,  after  flying  off  to  sea,  were  drowned 
and,  being  cast  upon  the  shore,  “ they  emitted  a stench  greater 
than  could  have  been  produced  by  the  carcasses  of  one  hundred 
thousand  men”  A historian  relates  that  in  the  year  591a  large 
army  of  locusts  ravaged  part  of  Italy,  “and  being  at  last  cast 
into  the  sea,  from  their  stench  arose  a pestilence  that  carried  off 
near  a million  of  men  and  beasts.”  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
say  that  our  “ locust,”  the  cicada  septemdecim , is  a different  kind 
of  insect,  the  destructive  locust  being  allied  to  the  grasshopper. 


Insects  are  found  in  the  largest  numbers  in  the  torrid  zone. 
In  Brazil  the  woods  are  overflowing  with  life.  All  around  there 
is  a ceaseless  din,  the  notes  of  the  cicada,  shrill-sounding  over 
all,  being  sometimes  heard  at  the  distance  of  a mile.  Touch  a 
shrub,  and  insects  fall  from  it  like  living  fruit.  The  herbaceous 
plants  glow  with  the  most  brilliant  beetles,  as  if  all  the  precious 
stones  had  become  charged  with  life.  The  gorgeous  flowers 
seem  to  take  wings  and  sport  about  among  the  plants  to  which 
they  once  belonged.  And  when  night  comes  on  the  woods  are 
“all  alive  with  light;”  for  glow-worms  cover  the  shrubs,  and 
fire-flies  glance  in  all  directions  through  the  air. 

Some  of  the  most  remarkable  species  of  beetles  are  those 
which  have  the  power  of  emitting  light.  The  principal  of  these 
are  the  English  glow-worm,  the  Italian  glow-worm,  and  the  fire- 
fly of  South  America.  In  England  they  never  see  the  beautiful 
spectacle  which  is  presented  in  our  climate,  when  the  landscape 
is  lighted  up  by  thousands  of  little  flying  stars.  It  is  only  the 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A LECTURE  ON  ENTOMOLOGY. 


I43 


female  of  the  English  glow-worm  ( lampyris  noctiluca)  that  is 
very  luminous,  and  she  never  flies.  The  males  that  fly  around 
her  have  little  luminousness,  though  in  form  they  resemble  the 
Italian  glow-worm  ( lampyris  Italica)  which  the  Italians  call 
lucciole , little  lights,  and  we  call  “ fire-flies”  or  “ lightning-bugs.” 
If  we  were  not  familiar  with  the  sight,  we  should  be  filled  with 
rapture  by  the  beauty  of  our  calm  summer  evenings  when  these 
little  insects  speak  so  charmingly  to  the  eye  in  words  of  light. 
The  effect  which  their  appearance  may  have  upon  those  who 
know  nothing  about  them  may  be  seen  in  a story  told  of  some 
Moorish  women  of  rank,  who  had  been  taken  captive  and  con- 
fined in  a villa  near  Genoa.  A party  going  to  see  them  one 
summer  evening  after  a hot  day,  were  surprised  to  find  all  their 
doors  and  windows  closely  shut,  and  the  ladies  in  the  utmost 
terror  and  distress.  They  had  conceived  the  idea  that  these 
luminous  flies  were' the  disturbed  souls  of  their  relatives.  In 
some  countries,  it  is  said,  the  ladies  imprison  these  insects  in  a 
gauze  net,  and  wear  them  on  their  heads,  a crown  of  living 
gems. 


PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE. 


THUS  then  replied  to  Helen  the  mighty  shining-helmed  Hector: 
“Do  not  ask  me  to  sit;  thou  art  kind,  but  canst  not  persuade  me; 
I must  go  to  the  aid  of  the  Trojans,  who  long  for  me  absent. 

But  do  thou  stir  up  this  Paris  and  cause  him  to  hasten, 

So  that  he  may  overtake  me  before  I go  out  of  the  city. 

Now  my  wife  and  my  son  I am  going  to  see ; for  I know  not 
Whether  ever  again  I shall  come  from  the  battle  to  see  them 
Or  the  gods  decree  I fall  by  the  hands  of  Achaians.” 

Soon  he  came  to  his  well-sited  house ; but  not  in  her  chamber 
Did  he  the  white-armed  Andromache  find ; for  she  on  the  tower 
With  her  son  and  the  well-robed  nurse  was  standing  and  weeping. 

But  when  Hector  found  not  his  blameless  wife  in  her  chamber, 

Coming  to  the  threshold,  he  stood  and  said,  “Handmaidens,  tell  me, 
Whither  has  white-armed  Andromache  gone  away  from  her  chamber? 
Seeks  she  her  sisters-in-law  or  the  well-robed  wives  of  my  brothers? 

Or  has  she  gone  where  the  Trojan  dames  at  the  temple  of  Pallas 
Now  are  offering  prayers  to  the  fair-haired  powerful  goddess?” 
“Hector,”  the  diligent  housekeeper  said,  “the  truth  I will  tell  thee: 
Nor  does  she  seek  her  sisters-in-law  nor  the  wives  of  thy  brothers; 

Nor  has  she  gone  where  the  Trojan  dames  at  the  temple  of  Pallas 
Now  are  offering  prayers  to  the  fair-haired  powerful  goddess. 

To  the  great  tower  of  Troy  she  has  gone,  having  heard  that  the  Trojans, 
Overpowered  by  the  strength  of  the  Greeks,  are  sorely  afflicted. 

Now  indeed  to  the  rampart  she  hastes,  like  a woman  distracted; 

And  to  attend  her  has  gone  the  nurse,  who  carries  the  infant.” 

Thus  did  the  housekeeper  say.  But  Hector  rushed  from  his  mansion 
Back  by  the  way  that  he  came,  through  the  populous  streets  of  the  city. 
At  the  Scaean  gates,  through  which  to  the  field  he  was  going, 

There  to  meet  him  Andromache  ran,  the  rich-dowered  daughter 
Of  Eetion,  great-hearted  prince,  who  dwelt  at  Mount  Placus, 

In  Hypoplacian  Thebe,  and  ruled  the  Cilician  people; 

And  his  daughter  to  Hector  was  given  in  marriage. 

She  her  husband  now  met,  having  with  her  the  nurse,  who  was  bearing 
On  her  bosom  a tender  young  child,  the  loved  son  of  Hector, 

Like  to  a beautiful  star,  Scamandrius  called  by  his  father, 


THE  PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE. 


145 


By  others  Astyanax*  called  in  honor  of  Hector, 

Who  was  the  only  hope  of  Troy.  The  father  in  silence 
Looked  on  his  beautiful  child ; but  Andromache,  weeping, 

Pressed  to  his  side  and  clung  to  his  hand,  thus  tearfully  speaking : 

“ Rashly  brave,  thou  art  doomed  to  fall.  Thou  feelest  no  pity 
For  thy  infant  child,  nor  for  me  unhappy,  a widow 
Destined  soon  to  be ; for  soon  the  Achaians  will  kill  thee, 

All  rushing  on  thee  at  once.  And  then  for  me  it  were  better, 

Having  lost  thee,  to  go  into  the  ground ; for  left  is  no  comfort, 

Nothing  but  sorrow,  for  me.  I have  nor  father  nor  mother. 

For  indeed  my  father  was  slain  by  high-born  Achilles 
When  he  thoroughly  sacked  the  well-built  Cilician  city, 

High-gated  Thebe.  He  slew  my  father,  but  did  not  despoil  him, 

From  a feeling  of  awe;  but  in  the  well-fashioned  armor 
Burned  he  the  dead;  and  then  a mound  he  raised  o’er  his  ashes; 

Where  by  mountain-nymphs,  daughters  of  Jove  segis-bearing, 

Elm-trees  were  planted,  which  grew.  In  our  house  were  once  seven 
brothers ; 

All  in  one  day  were  slain  by  the  swift-footed  high-born  Achilles, 

By  the  side  of  their  slow-going  oxen  and  sheep  with  white  fleeces. 

As  for  my  mother,  who  reigned  at  the  foot  of  woody  Mount  Placus, 

Her  he  afterward  hither  brought  with  the  rest  of  his  booty. 

But  he  released  her  and  sent  her  away,  countless  ransom  receiving. 

She  in  her  father’s  house  was  struck  down  by  the  bow-queen  Diana. 

Thou  now  only  art  left  me.  Now  thou  art  my  mother  and  father  and 
brother 

And  my  husband.  And  now  have  pity  and  stay  at  this  tower. 

Make  not  thy  child  an  orphan,  thy  wife  a desolate  widow. 

Place  thine  army  near  to  the  fig-tree,  there  where  the  city 
Can  be  most  easily  entered,  the  walls  being  easy  of  scaling. 

Thrice  in  this  place  has  the  wall  been  attacked  by  the  bravest  Achaians ; 
Both  the  Ajaces,  Idomeneus  famed,  the  two  sons  of  Atreus, 

And  Tydides  the  brave,  whether  moved  by  one  skilled  in  divining 
Or  their  own  minds.”  Then  answered  the  mighty  shining-helmed  Hector : 
“I  have  thought  of  these  things,  O wife;  but  shame  would  confound  me 
In  the  presence  of  Trojan  men  and  trailing-robed  women, 

If,  like  a coward,  I stay  and  skulk  away  from  the  battle. 

Nor  does  my  spirit  prompt  me  to  stay,  having  learned  to  be  valiant 
Always,  and  always  to  fight  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  the  Trojans, 

Seeking  to  gain  great  glory  for  both  myself  and  my  father. 

Yet  a day  will  come,  I know,  when  Troy’s  sacred  city 


5:5  King  of  the  city. 

!3 


THE  PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE. 


Is  to  perish,  and  Priam  and  the  people  of  Priam. 

But  I grieve  not  so  much  for  the  coming  woes  of  the  Trojans, 

Nor  for  the  woes  of  Hecuba’s  self,  nor  for  those  of  King  Priam, 

Nor  do  I grieve  for  the  fate  of  my  brothers,  who,  many  and  valiant, 

May  be  laid  in  the  dust  by  the  hands  of  the  pitiless  foeman, 

As  I grieve  for  thee  when  thou  shalt  be  led  away  weeping 
By  somfe  brass-clad  Achaian  chief  who  has  robbed  thee  of  freedom. 

Thou  in  Argos  shalt  ply  the  loom  at  command  of  a mistress; 

And  from  the  fount  of  Hyperea  or  the  fount  of  Messeis 
Thou  shalt  draw  water,  much  unwilling,  necessity-driven. 

‘This,’  one  will  say  when  he  sees  thee  in  tears,  ‘was  the  wife  of  great  Hector, 
Bravest  of  all  the  steed-taming  Trojans  that  fought  round  their  city.’ 
Thus  will  some  then  say.  But  greater  sorrow  shall  seize  thee 
When  thou  shalt  think  of  him  who  might  thee  have  saved  from  enslave- 
ment.” 

Then  to  take  his  son  stretched  his  arms  the  illustrious  Hector ; 

But  the  boy  to  his  well-zoned  nurse’s  bosom  shrunk  crying, 

Scared  by  the  glittering  helmet  and  the  plume  with  its  horse-hair 
On  the  top  fiercely  nodding.  Then  laughed  the  father  and  mother. 
Straight  from  his  head  the  illustrious  Hector  removing  his  helmet, 

Laid  it  all  bright  on  the  ground.  Then  he  kissed  and  dandled  his  darling; 
Afterward  uttered  a prayer  to  Jove  and  the  other  immortals: 

“Jove,  and  all  ye  gods!  may  my  son  become  as  distinguished 
’Mong  the  Trojans  as  I am,  as  able  to  govern  the  people. 

May  it  then  be  said,  ‘ He  greatly  surpasses  his  father  ’ — 

As  he  returns  from  the  war.  May  he  bring  the  blood-sprinkled  booty, 
Having  sla'in  the  foe.  May  his  mother’s  bosom  be  gladdened.” 

Thus  having  said,  he  placed  the  boy  in  the  hands  of  his  mother, 

Who  to  her  sweet-scented  bosom  pressed  him,  through  her  tears  smiling. 
Then  her  husband  her  pitied  and  soothed  with  his  hand,  and  thus  said  he : 
“Strangely  hast  thou  spoken.  Be  not  too  grieved  in  thy  spirit. 

No  one  before  my  time  is  come  can  send  me  to  Hades. 

No  one  can  avoid  his  fate,  whether  brave  man  or  coward. 

Go  now  into  the  house  and  ’tend  the  affairs  of  thy  household ; 

See  to  the  loom  and  the  distaff  and  set  thy  handmaids  to  labor. 

War  will  be  the  concern  of  men,  of  all  native  Trojans, 

But  of  me  most  of  all.”  Thus  speaking  he  took  up  his  helmet 
Waving  with  horse-hair.  The  wife  of  his  bosom  then  went  away  homeward, 
Turning  oft  to  look  back,  the  swelling  tears  sadly  shedding. 

Soon  she  came  to  the  well-sited  mansion  of  man-slaying  Hector. 

There  she  found  many  attendants,  who  all  joined  in  her  wailing. 

So  in  his  house  lamentings  arose  for  Hector  yet  living; 

For  they  thought  he  would  never  return  from  the  fight  with  Achaians. 


WHAT  IS  A PRONOUN? 


HE  pronoun  is  thus  described  in  Girault-Duvivier’s  Gram- 


maire  des  Grammaires : “To  judge  from  the  etymology, 
the  pronoun  properly  so  called  is  a word  which  has  no  significa- 
tion in  itself,  and  which  is  put  in  the  place  of  a noun  previously 
mentioned,  to  be  a substitute  for  it  and  to  avoid  a repetition  of 
it.  Since  the  pronoun  takes  the  place  of  a noun,  it  must  by 
necessary  consequence  call  up  the  idea  such  as  it  is,  such  as  the 
noun  itself  would  call  it  up,  that  is  without  adding  any  thing  to 
it  or  taking  any  thing  from  it.” 

The  doctrine  here  expressed  is  that  which  is  found  in  nearly 
all  grammars.  “A  pronoun  is  a word  used  instead  of  a noun, 
to  avoid  repeating  it  in  the  same  sentence.” — Hiley’s  English 
Grammar.  “'A  pronoun  is  a word  used  as  a substitute  for  a 
noun.” — Tower’s  English  Grammar.  “The  pronouns,  on  the 
contrary,  are  only  the  representatives  of  nouns , not  the  direct 
signs  of  things .” — Mulligan’ s Grammat.  Structure  of  the  English 
Language . This  expresses  the  common  idea  in  the  clearest 
manner. 

As  the  pronoun  is  used  instead  of  a noun,  every  pronoun 
must  be  referred  to  some  noun  for  which  it  stands — to  some 
noun  which  expresses  exactly  the  same  thing.  Properly  speak- 
ing, this  should  be  some  noun  previously  mentioned,  as  it  is 
called  the  “antecedent.”  The  search  for  this  antecedent  has 
in  many  cases  been  as  unsuccessful  as  the  search  for  the  “ north- 
west passage.”  “ Pronouns  are  words  used  instead  of  nouns. 
Examples — / see  you , etc.  In  the  first  sentence  I stands  for 
the  name  of  the  speaker,  and  you  for  the  name  of  the  person 
addressed.” — Sill’s  Synthesis  of  the  English  Sentence.  One  writer 


WHAT  IS  A PRONOUN? 


after  saying,  “ That  word , phrase , or  sentence  for  which  the  pro- 
noun stands  is  called  the  antecedent/’  goes  on  to  make  the 
objects  themselves  the  antecedents:  uWe  is  a pronoun,  personal, 
its  antecedent  the  company  of  which  the  speaker  is  one,  with 
which  it  agrees  in  the  first,  plural,  common.”  “It  rains.  It  is  a 
pronoun,  personal,  ant.  weather  understood,  with  which  it  agrees 
in  the  third,  singular,  neuter.” — Holbrooks  Comp.  English  Gram. 
Is  the  company  of  which  the  speaker  is  one  a word , a phrase , or 
a sentence  ? 

Let  us  examine  this  matter  and  see  whether  pronouns  are 
any  thing  but  nouns — whether  they  are  not  “ the  direct  signs  of 
things ” instead  of  being  “only  the  representatives  of  nouns!  I 
say  to  a person  whom  I have  never  seen  before,  “ I see  you.” 
He  knows  nothing  about  me,  and  I know  nothing  about  him; 
he  does  not  know  whether  I have  a name,  and  I do  not  know 
whether  he  has  a name;  and  yet  / and  you  express  ideas 
which  we  both  understand  thoroughly.  They  have  no  refer- 
ence whatever  to  other  words.  I expresses  the  idea  of  a per- 
son, not  of  a word.  In  a dark  night  I hear  a voice  cry  from  a 
pit  “ Help  me  out,”  and  I immediately  know  there  is  a person 
in  the  pit.  What  has  conveyed  this  idea?  The  word  me.  I 
do  not  stop  to  ask  what  word  this  me  represents.  I know  that 
if  I help  any  thing  out  of  the  pit  it  is  a person , not  the  repre- 
sentative of  a word.  I should  understand  “Help  me  out,” 
though  all  the  other  words  in  the  language  were  blotted  from 
my  memory.  When  Shylock  says,  “ Shylock  is  my  name,”  he 
does  not  mean  “Shylock  is  Shylock’s  name,”  but  “Shylock  is 
the  name  of  the  person  who  is  speaking  to  you.”  My  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  name;  the  same  word  would  have  been 
employed  if  some  one  had  said,  “Shylock  is  not  my  name.” 
When  I say,  “ I will  tell  you  my  name,”  you  know  that  it  is 
the  person  speaking  that  makes  the  promise;  when  I fulfill  my 
promise  and  tell  you  my  name  you  have  some  additional  knowl- 
edge of  me.  The  I and  the  name  do  not  express  the  same 
idea. 


WHAT  IS  A PRONOUN? 


149 


“ The  pronouns  / and  thou  or  you , with  their  plurals  we  and 
you , are  especially  important,  as  they  stand  instead  of  the  names 
of  the  speaker  and  the  person  or  persons  addressed.  For  exam- 
ple, it  would  be  very  inconvenient  for  a speaker  to  call  the  name 
of  every  one  of  his  audience  instead  of  saying  you  ” — Bingham's 
English  Gram?nar.  It  would  be  very  inconvenient,  particularly 
if  the  speaker  did  not  know  the  name  of  a single  person  before 
him;  but,  however  great  his  ignorance  in  this  respect,  he  knows 
what  he  means  by  you , and  every  one  that  hears  him  knows. 

“A  pronoun  is* a word  used  in  the  place  of  a noun.  The 
common  definition  that  a pronoun  is  a word  used  instead  of  a 
noun  is  inaccurate.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  substitute  a noun 
for  the  personal  pronoun  of  the  first  or  second  person,  for  the 
interrogative,  or  for  the  relative  pronouns.  But  a pronoun 
always  occupies  the  place  and  receives  the  construction  of  a 
noun,  either  substantive  or  adjective.57 — Holmes' s Eng.  Grammar. 
It  is  strange  that  the  writer  of  this  was  not  convinced  that  pro- 
nouns are  nouns.  If  the  pronoun  is  not  a word  used  instead 
of  a noun,  not  a substitute  for  a noun,  but  a word  that  always 
occupies  the  place  and  receives  the  construction  of  a noun, 
what  is  it  but  a noun? 

Are  the  personal  pronouns  of  the  third  person  “only  the 
representatives  of  nouns , not  the  direct  signs  of  things"  ? “He 
who  runs  may  read.55  This  sentence  expresses  the  idea  as 
independently  as  it  would  be  expressed  by  “ The  man  who  runs 
may  read.55  He  no  more  stands  for  another  word  than  man 
stands  for  another  word.  When  Lear  on  seeing  Kent  in  the 
stocks  exclaims,  “ Death  on  my  state ! wherefore  should  he  sit 
here?55  he  expresses  the  idea  as  independently  of  other  words 
as  if  he  had  said,  “Wherefore  should  this  man  sit  here?55  “He 
that  gathereth  in  summer  is  wise.55  We  may  substitute  the  man 
for  he,  and  is  it  not  as  correct  to  say  that  the  man  represents  he 
as  that  he  represents  the  man  ? “ They  say  that  house  is  haunted.55 
If  we  substitute  people  for  they , is  people  a pro-p?vnounl  “It 
rains,55  Here  the  word  it  has  so  peculiar  a sense  that  there  is 


WHAT  IS  A PRONOUN? 


150 

no  word  which  can  be  substituted  for  it.  Neither  the  weather 
itself  nor  the  word  weather  can  get  into  this  sentence.  It  is  not 
the  weather  that  rains;  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  it  is 
the  rain  that  weathers . It  is  the  rain  that  makes  the  wet  weather, 
the  weather  being  a condition  of  the  atmosphere  produced  by 
the  rain.  The  word  it  is  used  to  denote  indefinitely  the  cause 
which  produces  the  rain,  whatever  that  cause  may  be. 

It  may  be  shown  that  even  when  an  object  has  been  previ- 
ously mentioned  the  pronoun  refers  not  to  the  word  but  to  the 
object  itself.  “ You  should  not  have  scolded  James;  he  did  not 
deserve  it.”  Here  he  does  not  denote  the  word  James ; it  de- 
notes the  person  himself.  “ You  should  not  have  scolded  James; 
the  boy  did  not  deserve  it.”  The  context  here  shows  that  the 
boy  denotes  James.  As  used  in  these  two  sentences  the  two 
expressions  the  boy  and  he  are  synonymous.  They  each  denote 
the  person  James,  not  the  word . In  the  former  sentence  he  is 
employed  not  because  of  any  grammatical  dependence  upon 
the  word  James,  but  because  the  sense  demands  he,  and  she  or  it 
would  make  nonsense.  A speaker  would  avoid  saying,  “You 
should  not  have  scolded  James;  she  did  not  deserve  it,”  for  the 
same  reason  that  he  would  avoid  saying,  “You  should  not  have 
scolded  James;  the  girl  did  not  deserve  it.” 

If  we  suppose  that  in  “it  rains”  it  denotes  the  same  thing 
as  weather,  then  it  is  a synonym  of  weather,  not  a substitute  for 
it,  not  a representative  of  the  word  weather;  and  synonymy 
furnishes  a reason  for  placing  words  in  the  same  class,  not  for 
placing  them  in  different  classes.  “The  way  of  transgressors 
is  hard.”  “The  way  of  sinners  is  hard.”  An  “oral  exercise” 
of  the  following  kind  may  be  imagined : “ What  word  in  the 
latter  sentence  stands  instead  of  transgressors  in  the  former? 
Ans.  Sinners . Then  as  pronoun  means  Jor  a noun,  and  sinners 
stands  for  the  noun  transgressors,  what  shall  we  call  sinners  ? 
Ans.  A pronoun.” 

An  interrogative  pronoun  is  said  to  be  “ a relative  in  search 
of  an  antecedent.”  This  antecedent  has  been  found  in  the 


WHAT  IS  A PRONOUN? 


ISI 

“subsequent.”  “The  subsequent  of  an  interrogative  pronoun  is 
that  part  of  the  answer  which  is  represented  by  it.  An  inter- 
rogative must  agree  with  its  subsequent  in  gender,  person,  and 
number.”  “The  person,  gender,  and  number  of  an  interroga- 
tive pronoun  are  indeterminate  when  no  answer  is  given  to  the 
question  in  which  it  is  found;  as,  ‘ Who  owns  that  vessel?’ 
The  answer  may  be  ‘Mr.  Gordon  owns  it,’  ‘Jones  and  Smith  own 
it,’  ‘I  own  it,’  ‘He  and  / own  it,’  or  ‘ You  yourself  own  it.’ 
When  an  answer  is  given,  or  when  one  can  be  inferred  from 
well-known  facts,  these  properties  are  determinate ; as,  4 Who 
owns  that  vessel?’  ‘I  own  it.’  ‘Who’  is  in  the  first  person, 
singular  number,  agreeing  with  ‘ I.’  ” — Harvey' s Eng.  Grammar. 
If  this  is  correct,  then  owns,  third  person,  agrees  with  who,  first 
person.  This  is  what  the  interrogative  has  come  to  in  “its 
search  of  an  antecedent.”  The  truth  is  that  the  interrogative 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  answer.  Who  is  synonymous  with 
what  person , and  it  is  never  of  any  person  but  the  third.  It 
is  sometimes  plural  and  sometimes  singular;  but  the  number 
depends  not  on  the  answer,  but  on  what  is  in  the  speaker’s  mind. 
If  the  speaker  thinks  that  a certain  vessel  has  two  owners,  he 
will  say,  “Who  own  that  vessel?”  If  he  thinks  it  has  but  one 
owner,  he  will  say,  “Who  owns  that  vessel?”  The  question 
“Who  is  here?”  may  be  answered  by  “I  am  here.”  Now,  if 
who  takes  its  person  from  I,  the  inquirer,  after  he  has  learned 
from  the  answer  that  who  is  of  the  first  person,  should  go  back 
and  change  his  question  to  “Who  am  here?” 


THE  DRUIDS. 


PLINY  says,  “The  Druids,  who  are  the  magi  of  Gaul, 
esteem  nothing  more  sacred  than  the  mistletoe  and  the 
tree  on  which  it  grows,  if  only  it  is  an  oak.  Indeed  they 
choose  out  groves  of  oak  and  use  their  leaves  in  all  their 
sacred  rites;  so  that  their  very  name,  Druids,  may  seem  to 
be  derived  from  dpus,  the  Greek  word  for  oak." 

Many  derivations  have  been  given  of  the  word  Druid.  It 
has  been  deduced  from  the  Saxon  dry , a magician;  from  the 
Irish  drui  or  draui,  a sacred  person;  and  from  various  other 
sources.  But  a simpler  etymology  is  that  quoted  by  Parke 
Godwin  from  De  Chinese,  who  gives  De , God,  and  ra-wydd , a 
speaker.  Derawydd , God’s  speaker,  or  a theologian. 

In  Caesar’s  account  of  the  Druids  (. De  Bello  Gallico , vi,  13, 
etc.)  he  states  that  the  Druids  and  the  Equites,  or  military 
order,  formed  the  only  two  honorable  classes  in  Gaul,  the  com- 
mon people  being  almost  in  the  condition  of  slaves.  The 
Druids  attended  to  divine  affairs,  managed  public  and  private 
sacrifices,  and  explained  religious  matters.  A great  number  of 
youths  resorted  to  them  for  the  sake  of  education.  The  Dru- 
ids, he  says,  were  in  great  honor  among  the  Gauls;  for  they 
decided  in  all  disputes  public  and  private.  If  any  crime  had 
been  committed,  if  murder  had  been  done,  if  there  was  a con- 
troversy about  inheritance  or  about  boundaries,  they  made  the 
decision.  If  any  person  either  private  or  public  did  not  obey 
their  decrees  they  interdicted  them  from  the  sacrifices.  This 
was  with  them  the  severest  punishment.  Those  who  were  thus 
interdicted  were  regarded  as  impious  and  infamous.  Every 
one  withdrew  from  them  and  shunned  all  intercourse  with  them. 

2) 


THE  DRUIDS. 


I53 


They  were  debarred  from  the  protection  of  the  law  and  from  all 
offices  of  honor.  The  Druids  had  a chief.  When  the  chief 
died,  if  any  one  was  preeminent  above  the  rest,  he  succeeded; 
if  several  of  them  were  equal,  a chief  was  elected  by  the  Dru- 
ids; sometimes  also  the  contest  was  carried  on  with  arms.  At  a 
certain  time  of  the  year  the  Druids  assembled  in  a consecrated 
place  in  the  country  of  the  Cornutes,  which  was  believed  to  be 
the  center  of  Gaul.  Hither  from  every  side  assembled  those 
who  had  controversies,  and  they  submitted  to  the  decisions  of 
the  Druids.  The  Druids  were  exempt  from  military  duty  and 
from  all  taxes.  Attracted  by  such  advantages,  many  youths 
of  their  own  accord  came  to  be  trained  in  their  discipline,  and 
many  were  sent  by  their  parents  and  relations.  There  these 
persons  learned  by  heart  a great  number  of  verses,  and  some 
remained  there  twenty  years.  They  did  not  think  it  right  to 
commit  those  things  to  writing,  though  in  almost  all  other  mat- 
ters they  used  the  Greek  letters.  Caesar  supposes  two  reasons 
for  not  committing  their  doctrines  to  writing;  the  first  being 
that  they  did  not  wish  their  system  to  be  communicated  to  the 
vulgar,  the  second  that  the  learners  might  not  impair  their 
power  of  memory  by  trusting  to  writing.  Their  chief  doctrine 
was  that  the  soul  does  not  perish,  but  after  death  passes  from 
one  body  to  another.  They  discoursed  about  the  stars  and 
their  motion,  about  the  greatness  of  the  universe  and  of  the 
earth,  about  the  nature  of  things,  and  about  the  power  of  the 
immortal  gods. 

Caesar  does  not  mention  Druidesses;  but  other  writers  tell 
of  a female  order  which  had  some  mysterious  connection  with 
the  religious  rights  of  the  Celts. 

The  Druids  sacrificed  human  beings  as  well  as  beasts.  Caesar 
says  that  they  preferred  the  bodies  of  such  as  had  been  guilty 
of  some  crime;  but  that  when  such  were  wanting  they  con- 
tented themselves  with  innocent  persons. 

One  of  the  most  singular  doctrines  of  the  Druids  was  that 
of  the  sacred  character  of  the  mistletoe  of  the  oak.  Wherever 


154 


THE  DRUIDS. 


mistletoe  was  found  on  the  sacred  oak,  as  it  rarely  was,  a pro- 
cession was  made  to  it  with  great  pomp  and  ceremony.  Two 
white  bulls  or  heifers  were  bound  to  the  oak  with  their  horns. 
Then  a Druid,  clothed  in  white,  ascended  the  tree,  and  with  a 
knife  of  gold  cut  the  mistletoe,  which  another  Druid  below 
held  his  robe  to  receive.  Then  the  victims  were  sacrificed, 
and  great  rejoicings  and  festivities  followed.  It  has  been  sug- 
gested that  the  Druids  saw  in  the  perpetual  verdure  of  this 
plant  an  emblem  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 

The  opera  of  Norma,  as  is  well  known,  is  founded  on  the 
Druidical  superstition.  Pollio,  a Roman  proconsul,  was  the 
governor  of  Gaul,  and  he  had  induced  the  priestess  Norma, 
daughter  of  the  arch-Druid  Oroveso,  to  marry  him  in  secret. 
None  knew  of  the  marriage  except  Norma’s  friend  Clotilda. 
After  two  children  had  been  born  to  them  Pollio  deserted 
Norma  for  Adalgisa,  another  priestess. 

The  opera  opens  with  the  grand  march  of  the  Druids,  who 
are  proceeding  to  the  oak  from  which  the  sacred  mistletoe  is 
to  be  cut.  The  chorus  .of  Gauls  demands  when  the  mighty* 
prophetess  Norma  is  going  to  strike  the  sacred  shield  as  the 
signal  for  them  to  attack  the  Romans.  Norma  comes  among 
them,  and  they  clamor  for  battle.  She  reproaches  them  for 
their  clamor,  telling  them  that  the  hour  is  not  yet  come  and 
that  Rome  is  to  be  destroyed  by  her  own  crimes.  She  is  anx- 
ious to  prevent  a collision  between  the  Romans  and  the  Gauls, 
her  husband  being  on  one  side  and  her  father  and  friends  on 
the  other.  It  is  at  this  time  that  she  sings  the  Casta  Diva , a 
prayer  to  the  moon  to  calm  the  fury  of  those  who  are  cLamor= 
ing  for  battle. 

Casta  diva  che  inargenti 
Queste  sacre  antiche  pianti, 

A noi  volgi  il  bel  sembiante, 

Senza  nube  e senza  vel. 

Tempra  tu  de’cori  ardenti; 

Tempra  ancor  lo  zelo  audace ; 

Spargi  in  terra  quella  pace 
Che  regnar  tu  fai  nel  ciel. 


THE  DRUIDS.  155 

We  give  here  a translation  of  the  prayer  in  the  meter  and 
arrangement  of  the  original. 

Goddess  chaste,  whose  silver  splendor 
O’er  our  ancient  oaks  is  gleaming, 

With  thy  mild  face  on  us  beaming 
Cause  the  envious  clouds  to  fly ! 

Fiery  hearts  submissive  render! 

Calm  the  souls  with  fury  glowing, 

On  the  earth  that  peace  bestowing 

Which  thou  spreadest  through  the  sky ! 

In  the  second  act  Pollio,  who  has  been  recalled  to  Rome, 
urges  Adalgisa  to  fly  with  him.  She,  stung  with  remorse,  flies 
to  Norma  and  confesses  that  she  loves  a Roman;  but  she  does 
not  at  first  tell  his  name.  Norma’s  own  love  makes  her  sym- 
pathize with  that  of  Adalgisa.  While  they  are  speaking  Pollio 
appears,  and  Adalgisa  cries  out,  “That  is  he!”  Norma  is  ex- 
cited to  fury.  In  the  third  act  she  is  represented  as  about  to 
kill  herself  and  her  children.  She  is  just  going  to  strike  the 
children,  when  the  mother’s  love  stays  her  hand.  She  sends 
for  Adalgisa,  who  is  kneeling  at  the  altar  and  praying  to  be 
forgiven.  She  makes  Adalgisa  swear  to  protect  the  children. 
For  the  sake  of  the  children  Norma  permits  Adalgisa  to  make 
an  effort  to  bring  Pollio  back  to  her.  While  Norma  is  indulg- 
ing in  hope  Clotilda  enters  and  tells  her  that  Adalgisa  has  wept 
and  prayed  in  vain.  The  infuriated  priestess  strikes  the  sacred 
shield,  and  the  Druids  and  warriors  rush  in,  furious  for  battle. 
Clotilda  enters  and  announces  that  a Roman  has  been  discov- 
ered within  the  sacred  forest.  Pollio  is  dragged  forward,  and 
Norma  is  commanded  to  slay  him.  She  begs  to  be  left  alone 
with  him  so  that  she  may  question  him  about  his  motive  for 
committing  the  crime.  In  the  interview  she  threatens  to  destroy 
the  children,  and  Pollio  begs  her  rather  to  plunge  the  knife  into 
his  bosom.  She  then  threatens  to  destroy  Adalgisa.  While 
Pollio  is  attempting  to  wrest  the  knife  from  her  she  summons 
the  Druids  to  enter.  She  then  tells  them  that  a priestess  has 


THE  DRUIDS. 


!S6 

broken  her  vow  for  this  stranger.  They  demand  the  name, 
crying  out  that  she  shall  die.  “It  is  Norma!”  Pollio  is  struck 
with  admiration,  and  the  Druids  with  horror.  While  the  pile 
is  preparing  Norma  begs  her  father  to  save  the  children.  He 
is  at  last  overcome  with  pity.  A black  vail  is  then  thrown  over 
Norma,  and  Pollio  is  seized  by  Gallic  soldiers.  The  light  of 
the  burning  pile  flashes  upon  the  close. 


[FROM  THE  AGE.] 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


WRITER  in  Appleton’s  Magazine,  not  satisfied  with  what 


has  already  been  written  on  the  subject,  makes  his  con- 
tribution to  the  attempts  to  prove  that  Shakespeare  was  not  the 
author  of  the  works  attributed  to  him.  Those  who  advocate 
this  notion  must  do  so  for  the  purpose  of  displaying  their  inge- 
nuity, or  perhaps  they  do  so  because  subjects  are  scarce.  If 
they  are  at  a loss  for  subjects  to  write  on,  they  might  go  back 
to  some  of  the  matters  discussed  in  the  middle  ages,  and  inquire 
how  many  angels  can  stand  on  the  point  of  a needle,  or  whether 
a hog  is  led  to  market  by  the  rope  or  by  the  man  who  holds  the 
rope.  Archbishop  Whately  wrote  a work,  “ Historic  Doubts 
Relative  to  Napoleon  Bonaparte,”  going  to  show  that  there  was 
no  such  person  as  Napoleon  Bonaparte;  but  he  had  an  object, 
which  was  to  show  the  absurdity  of  the  principles  which  skep- 
tics had  laid  down  in  regard  to  what  is  recorded  in  the  New 
Testament.  But  the  object  of  those  who  write  to  prove  that 
Shakespeare  was  not  the  author  of  Shakespeare’s  works  seems 
to  be  merely  to  show  that  “ some  things  can  be  done  as  well  as 
others.”  What  is  the  use  of  wasting  time  in  writing  such  things 
and  causing  others  to  waste  time  in  reading  them  ? It  is  “ but 
time  lost  to  hear  such  a foolish  song.” 

This  writer  says,  “That  he  ever  composed,  on  his  own 
account,  we  have  only  a sort  of  innuendo  of  his  brother  actors 
and  playwrights  and  a Stratford  tradition,  which  we  can  trace 
to  no  other  source  than  the  source  of  the  belief  outside — that 
is  to  say,  to  the  fact  that  the  plays  were  produced  under  his 
management  in  London.” 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


158 

Ben  Jonson’s  well-known  poem,  “To  the  memory  of  my 
beloved,  the  author,  Mr.  William  Shakespeare,  and  what  he 
hath  left  us,”  is  sufficient  to  refute  all  the  stuff  that  has  been 
written  to  show  that  Shakespeare  did  not  write  his  works.  Ben 
Jonson  was  intimately  acquainted  with  Shakespeare,  and  had 
every  opportunity  of  knowing  his  calibre.  Thomas  Fuller,  who 
was  in  his  eighth  year  when  Shakespeare  died,  in  his  “ Worthies 
of  England”  says,  “Many  were  the  wit  combats  between  him 
and  Ben  Jonson;  which  two  I behold  like  a Spanish  great  gal- 
leon and  an  English  man-of-war.  Master  Jonson,  like  the  for- 
mer, was  built  far  higher  in  learning;  solid,  but  slow  in  his 
performances.  Shakespeare,  with  the  English  man-of-war,  lesser 
in  bulk,  but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn  with  all  tides,  tack 
about,  and  take  advantage  of  all  winds  by  the  quickness  of  his 
wit  and  invention.”  And  Ben  himself  says,  “I  remember  the 
players  have  often  mentioned  it  as  an  honor  to  Shakespeare 
that  in  his  writing — whatever  he  penned — he  never  blotted  a 
line.*  My  answer  hath  been,  would  he  had  blotted  a thousand ! 
which  they  thought  a malevolent  speech.  I had  not  told  pos- 
terity this,  but  for  their  ignorance  who  chose  that  circumstance 
to  commend  their  friend  by  wherein  he  most  faulted,  and  to 
justify  mine  own  candor;  for  I loved  the  man,  and  do  honor 
his  memory  on  this  side  of  idolatry  as  much  as  any.  He  was 
indeed  honest  and  of  an  open  and  free  nature;  had  an  excel- 
lent phantasy,  brave  notions,  and  gentle  expressions,  wherein  he 
flowed  with  that  facility  that  sometimes  it  was  necessary  he 
should  be  stopped,  sufflaminandus  erat , as  Augustus  said  of 
Haterius.”  Is  this  mere  innuendo? 


* The  writer  in  Appleton’s  Magazine  regards  this  as  referring  to  Shakespeare’s 
hand-writing ! “And  that  Mr.  Shakespeare  rewrote  for  the  stage  what  his  unknown 
poet  composed  we  have  the  tolerable  hearsay  testimony  of  his  fellow -actor,  Ben 
Jonson,  who  tells  us  that  he  remembers  to  have  heard  the  players  say  that  the  stage 
copies  of  the  plays  were  written  in  Shakespeare’s  autograph,  and  were  all  the  more 
available  on  that  account,  because  he  (Shakespeare)  was  a good  penman,  in  that 
‘whatever  he  penned  he  never  blotted  a line.’  ” If  it  were  not  for  the  seriousness 
of  the  rest  of  the  article  we  should  suppose  the  writer  intended  this  for  a joke.  If 
he  did  so  intend  it,  the  sooner  he  leaves  off  joking  the  better  for  himself  and  his  fam- 
ily and  friends. 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE.  1 59 

In  his  poem,  mentioned  above,  Ben  Jonson  calls  Shakes- 

Peare  Soul  of  the  age, 

The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage. 

Alluding  to  some  lines  by  W.  Basse,  in  which  that  writer 
urges  Spenser,  Chaucer,  and  Beaumont  to  make  room  for 
Shakespeare  in  their  tomb,  he  says: 

I will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A little  further  off  to  make  thee  room ; 

Thou  art  a monument  without  a tomb, 

And  art  alive  still  while  thy  book  doth  live 
And  we  have  wits  to  read  and  praise  to  give. 

He  then  proceeds  to  place  him  above  all  English,  all  Greek, 
all  Roman  dramatists: 

Triumph,  my  Britain!  thou  hast  one  to  show 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 

He  w*as  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time ! 

And  all  the  Muses  still  wTere  in  their  prime 
When,  like  Apollo,  he  came  forth  to  warm 
Our  ears,  or  like  a Mercury  to  charm ! 

Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 

And  joy’d  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines, 

Which  were  so  richly  spun  and  woven  so  fit 
As  since  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 

A little  further  on  we  have  the  following: 

Look  how  the  father’s  face 
Lives  in  his  issue,  even  so  the  race 
Of  Shakespeare’s  mind  and  manners  brightly  shines 
In  his  well-tuned  and  true-filed  lines ; 

In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  shake  a lance, 

As  brandished  at  the  eyes  of  Ignorance. 

Sweet  swan  of  Avon,  what  a sight  it  were 
To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear, 

And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames 
That  so  did  take  Eliza  and  our  James! 

But  stay,  I see  thee  in  the  Hemisphere 
Advanced,  and  made  a constellation  there ! 


l6o  BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 

Is  this  an  innuendo,  “an  oblique  hint”?  We  advise  this 
writer  and  all  others  of  his  class  to  betake  themselves  to  some 
useful  employment. 


SHAKESPEARE’S  LEGAL  ACQUIREMENTS. 

Sir  : In  your  eighth  number  a writer  attempts  to  show  the 
absurdity  of  denying  that  Shakespeare  wrote  the  plays  attrib- 
uted to  him.  He  says,  “ Those  who  advocate  this  notion  must 
do  so  for  the  purpose  of  displaying  their  ingenuity,  or  perhaps 
they  do  so  because  subjects  are  scarce.”  He  goes  on  to  quote 
from  Ben  Jonson  to  prove  that  Shakespeare  was  “an  author.” 
Well  might  he  have  been  “an  author,”  and  yet  he  may  not 
have  written  the  plays  attributed  to  him.  That  he  composed 
“Venus  and  Adonis,”  and  several  other  pieces  of  the  same 
stamp  I have  little  doubt;  but  I have  always  been  puzzled  to 
account  for  the  wonderful  legal  knowledge  evinced  in  these 
plays.  The  use  of  legal  technicalities  is  so  frequent  and  so 
accurate  as  to  point  strongly  to  a trained  and  skillful  lawyer  as 
their  author. 

In  the  “Comedy  of  Errors”  we  have  a dialogue  between 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse  and  his  man  Dromio,  in  Act  II, 
scene  2: 

Dro.  S.  There ’s  no  time  for  a man  to  recover  his  hair  that  grows  bald 
by  nature. 

Ant.  S.  May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery? 

Dro . S.  Yes,  to  pay  a fine  for  a periwig  and  recover  the  lost  hair  of 
another  man. 

Though  this  is  mere  jesting  it  shows  that  the  author  was 
familiar  with  some  of  the  most  abstruse  proceedings  in  English 
jurisprudence. 

Again,  in  Act  IV,  scene  2,  Adriana  asks  Dromio  of  Syra- 
cuse, “Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio?  Is  he  well?”  and  Dromio 
replies : 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


161 


Dro.  S.  No,  he ’s  in  Tartar  limbo,  worse  than  hell, 

A devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him. 

One  whose  hard  heart  is  buttoned  up  with  steel; 

A fiend,  a fairy,  pitiless  and  rough ; 

A wolf ; nay,  worse,  a fellow  all  in  buff ; 

A back-friend,  a shoulder-clapper,  one  that  countermands 
The  passages  and  alleys,  creeks  and  narrow  lands ; 

A hound  that  runs  counter,  and  yet  draws  dry  foot  well; 
One  that  before  the  judgment  carries  poor  souls  to  hell. 

Adr.  Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Di'O.  S.  I do  not  know  the  matter;  he ’s*’ rested  on  the  case. 

Adr.  What,  is  he  arrested?  Tell  me  at  whose  suit. 

Dro.  S.  I know  not  at  whose  suit  he  is  arrested  well ; 

But  he ’s  in  a suit  of  buff  which  ’rested  him,  that  can  I tell. 

Adr. This  I wonder  at, 

That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  debt. 

Tell  me,  was  he  arrested  on  a bond  ? 

Dro.  S.  Not  on  a bond , but  on  a stronger  thing, 

A chain  ! a chain  ! 


Here  is  a full,  detailed,  and  graphic  account  of  an  arrest  in 
England  on  mesne  process  (“ before  judgment”)  in  an  action  o?i 
the  case , for  the  price  of  a gold  chain,  by  a sheriff’s  officer,  or 
bumbailiff,  in  his  buff  costume,  and  carrying  his  prisoner  to  a 
sponging-house. 

In  the  “ Merry  Wives  of  Windsor”'  we  have  another  evi- 
dence of  legal  learning  which  Shakespeare  could  hardly  have 
acquired.  In  Act  II,  scene  2,  where  Ford,  under  the  name  of 
Master  Brook,  tries  to  induce  Falstaff  to  assist  him  in  his 
intrigue  with  Mrs.  Ford,  and  states  that  from  all  the  trouble 
and  money  he  had  bestowed  upon  her,  he  had  had  no  bene- 
ficial return,  we  have  the  following  question  and  answer: 

Fal.  Of  what  quality  was  your  love  then  ? 

Ford.  Like  a fair  house  built  upon  another  man’s  ground  ; so  that  I 
lost  my  edifice  by  mistaking  the  place  where  I erected  it. 

Here  is  evinced  a knowledge  of  real  property.  A writer 
unfamiliar  with  law  would  suppose  that  if,  by  mistake,  a man 
builds  a fine  house  on  the  land  of  another,  when  he  discovers 

14 


162 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


his  error  he  will  be  permitted  to  remove  all  the  materials  of  the 
structure,  and  particularly  the  marble  pillars  and  carved  chimney- 
pieces  with  which  he  has  adorned  it;  but  the  writer  of  the  play 
knew  better.  He  was  aware  that,  being  fixed  to  the  freehold, 
the  absolute  property  in  them  belonged  to  the  owner  of  the 
soil,  and  he  recollected  the  maxim,  Cujus  est  solum , ejus  est 
usque  ad  coelum. 

In  the  second  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  this  dialogue  occurs : 

Mrs.  Page.  I ’ll  have  the  cudgel  hallowed,  and  hung  o’er  the  altar;  it 
hath  done  meritorious  service. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  think  you  ? May  we,  with  the  warrant  of  woman- 
hood and  the  witness  of  a good  conscience,  pursue  him  with  further 
revenge  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  The  spirit  of  wantonness  is,  sure,  scared  out  of  him:  if 
the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee  simple , with  fine  and  recovery , he  will  never, 
I think,  in  the  way  of  waste,  attempt  us  again. 

Here  this  merry  wife  of  Windsor  is  supposed  to  know  that 
the  highest  estate  which  the  devil  could  hold  in  any  of  his  vic- 
tims was  a fee  simple  strengthened  by  fine  and  recovery. 

“The  Merchant  of  Venice ” contains  many  more  illustrations 
of  the  legal  acquirements  of  the  author,  whoever  he  was;  but 
enough  have  been  introduced  to  show  that  whoever  wrote  them 
had  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  technicalities  as  well  as  the 
general  principles  of  English  law.  Lord  Campbell,  who  dis- 
cusses the  subject  at  length,  says  that,  “while  novelists  and 
dramatists  are  constantly  making  mistakes  as  to  the  law  of  mar- 
riage, of  wills  and  inheritance — to  Shakespeare’s  law,  lavishly 
as  he  propounds  it,  there  can  neither  be  demurrer,  nor  bill  of 
exceptions,  nor  writ  of  error.” 

Shakespeare  may  have  been,  as  Lord  Campbell  intimates, 
an  attorney’s  clerk;  but  an  attorney’s  clerk  could  hardly  have 
acquired  so  profound  a knowledge  of  the  profession.  I should 
like,  therefore,  for  the  writer  in  your  paper  to  get  over  this 
argument  in  favor  of  the  proposition  that  Lord  Bacon  wrote 
these  plays.  B. 

Lexington,  March  13,  1879. 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE.  1 63 

Sir:  Your  correspondent  “B.”  in  his  communication  on 
“ Shakespeare’s  Legal  Acquirements”  seems  to  think  that 
Ben  Jonson’s  poem  on  Shakespeare  may  refer  to  him  as  the 
author  of  “Venus  and  Adonis,”  and  “several  other  pieces  of 
the  same  stamp.”  But  Jonson  refers  directly  to  Shakespeare’s 
dramatic  works.  He  calls  Shakespeare  “ the  applause,  delight, 
the  wonder  of  our  stage.”  And  then  he  makes  him  superior 
to  Lily,  to  Kid  and  Marlow,  to  HCschylus  and  Euripides  and 
Sophocles,  to  Pacuvius  and  Accius  and  Seneca,  to  Aristoph- 
anes and  Terence  and  Plautus.  He  would  call  the  Greek 
and  Roman  dramatists 

To  life  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread 
And  shake  a stage ; or  when  the  socks  were  on 
Leave  thee  alone  for  the  comparison 
Of  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome 
Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 

And  he  closes  the  poem  with  the  following  lines: 

Shine  forth,  thou  star  of  poets,  and  with  rage 
Or  influence  chide  or  cheer  the  drooping  stage, 

Which  since  thy  flight  from  hence  hath  mourned  like  night, 
And  despairs  day  but  for  thy  volume’s  light. 

“B.”  seems  to  think  that  the  works  attributed  to  Shakespeare 
show  a more  profound  knowledge  of  law  than  could  have  been 
acquired  by  an  attorney’s  clerk.  He  instances  the  author’s 
knowledge  of  the  process  of  procuring  the  fee  simple  of  an 
estate  by  “fine  and  recovery,”  his  knowledge  of  the  course  of 
proceeding  in  arrest  on  mesne  process , and  his  knowledge  of  the 
fact  that  when  a person  builds  a house  on  another’s  land  he 
loses  the  house.  Now  we  venture  to  say  that  no  young  man 
writing  in  the  office  of  an  attorney  could  fail  to  know  such 
things,  if  he  is  any  thing  more  than  a writing-machine.  The 
fictitious  proceedings  in  “fine  and  recovery”  are  very  easily 
understood,  and  the  employment  of  the  attorney  in  a single 
case  of  the  kind  would  make  the  intelligent  clerk  familiar  with 


164 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


the  process.  How  could  he  possibly  fail  to  know  of  all  the 
proceedings  in  every  kind  of  arrest?  And  as  to  the  loss  of  the 
house,  one  case  of  the  kind  in  the  attorney’s  hands  would  be 
sufficient  to  give  the  clerk  the  knowledge  of  the  law.  Any 
person  who  had  seen  one  instance  of  the  loss  of  a house  would 
know  the  law  on  the  subject.  It  did  not  require  a person  to  be 
Lord  Chancellor  in  order  to  know  such  things. 

It  was  said  of  John  Quincy  Adams  that  if  he  conversed  with 
you  about  clothes  you  would  suppose  him  to  be  a tailor;  if 
about  farming,  you  would  suppose  him  to  be  a farmer;  if  about 
naval  matters,  you  would  suppose  him  to  be  a sailor.  He  had 
kept  his  eyes  open  for  every  thing.  So  did  Shakespeare  keep 
his  eyes  open.  Goethe  was  many-sided,  but  Shakespeare  was 
all-sided.  As  Peter  Schlemihl’s  mysterious  man  in  the  gray 
coat  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  any  thing  that  was  required, 
whether  sticking-plaster,  telescope,  carpet,  tent,  or  horses,  so 
you  may  get  out  of  Shakespeare’s  works  proof  that  he  was 
any  thing  you  please  to  name.  The  author  of  these  works 
was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  the  operations  of  garden- 
ing, and  plausible  reasons  might  be  adduced  to  show  that  the 
works  were  written  by  Bishop  Corbet’s  father,  who  was  a gar- 
dener. It  would  not  be  difficult  to  prove  that  the  author  was 
some  horse-jockey.  Who  could  describe  the  points  of  a fine 
horse  better  than  he  does? 

So  did  this  horse  excel  a common  one 
In  shape,  in  courage,  color,  pace,  and  bone. 

Round-hoof ’d,  short-jointed,  fetlocks  shag  and  long, 

Broad  breast,  full  eye,  small  head,  and  nostril  wide, 

High  crest,  short  ears,  straight  legs,  and  passing  strong, 

Thick  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide. 

[ Venus  and  Adonis. 

How  well  he  knew  the  diseases  of  the  horse  is  shown  in  the 
description  of  Petruchio’s  horse : 

His  horse  hipped,  with  an  old  mothy  saddle,  and  stirrups  of  no 
kindred ; besides  possessed  with  the  glanders,  and  like  to  mose  in  the 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


I^5 

chine;  troubled  with  the  lampass,  infected  with  the  fashions  [farcy],  full 
of  wind-galls,  sped  with  spavins,  raied  with  the  yellows,  past  cure  of  the 
fives  [vives],  stark  spoiled  with  the  staggers,  begnawn  with  the  bots ; 
swayed  in  the  back,  and  shoulder  - shotten ; ne’er  legged  before. — 
Taming  of  the  Shrew . 

Now,  it  might  be  asked,  how  could  any  one  but  a horse- 
jockey  know  of  all  these  diseases?  And  who  but  a horse- 
jockey  could  have  written  this  description  of  “ distressed5’ 
horses  ? 

Their  poor  jades 

Lob  down  their  heads,  dropping  their  hides  and  hips, 

The  gum  down-roping  from  their  pale,  dead  eyes, 

And  in  their  pale,  dull  mouths  the  gimmal-bit 

Lies  foul  with  chewed  grass,  still  and  motionless. — Henry  V. 

And  in  the  animated  presentation  of  the  Dauphin’s  enthusi- 
asm about  his  horse  who  does  not  recognize  the  style  of  the 
horse-jockey? 

I will  not  change  my  horse  with  any  that  treads  but  on  four  pas- 
terns. He  bounds  from  the  earth  as  if  his  entrails  were  hairs.  When  I 
bestride  him,  I soar.  He  trots  the  air ; the  earth  sings  when  he  touches 
it;  the  basest  horn  of  his  hoof  is  more  musical  than  the  pipe  of  Hermes. 
It  is  a beast  for  Perseus.  He  is  pure  air  and  fire,  and  the  dull  elements 
of  earth  and  water  never  appear  in  him,  but  only  in  patient  stillness  while 
his  rider  mounts  him.  He  is,  indeed,  a horse,  and  all  other  jades  you 
may  call  beasts.  He  is  the  prince  of  palfreys ; his  neigh  is  like  the  bid- 
ding of  a monarch,  and  his  countenance  enforces  homage.  Nay,  the 
man  hath  no  wit  that  can  not  from  the  rising  of  the  lark  to  the  lodging 
of  the  lamb  vary  deserved  praise  on  my  palfrey.  It  is  a theme  fluent  as 
the  sea.  Turn  the  sands  into  eloquent  tongues,  and  my  horse  is  an  argu- 
ment for  them  all.  ’T  is  a subject  for  a sovereign  to  reason  on,  and  for  a 
sovereign’s  sovereign  to  ride  on,  and  for  the  world  (familiar  to  us,  and 
unknown),  to  lay  apart  their  particular  functions  and  wonder  at  him. — 
Henry  V. 

See  with  what  enthusiasm  the  horse-jockey  describes  a good 
rider.  It  will  be  observed,  however,  that  the  modern  practice 
of  rising  up  and  bumping  down  on  the  horse’s  back  was  not 
characteristic  of  the  good  rider  in  the  times  of  Shakespeare; 
then  the  rider  “grew  into  his  seat.” 


i66 


BEN  JONSON  ON  SHAKESPEARE. 


I ’ve  seen  myself,  and  served  against  the  French, 

And  they  can  well  on  horseback ; but  this  gallant 
Had  witchcraft  in  ’t ; he  grew  into  his  seat; 

And  to  such  wondrous  doing  brought  his  horse 
As  he  had  been  incorps’d  and  demi-natured 
With  the  brave  beast. — Hamlet . 

If  all  this  does  not  prove  that  the  author  of  the  works 
attributed  to  Shakespeare  was  a horse -jockey,  what  does  it 
prove  ? 


THE  EATING  ANIMAL. 


I MADE  a kind  of  promise  that  I would  send  you  a disserta- 
tion on  eating  in  its  relations  to  man.  I will  not  give  you 
a formal  dissertation  at  present;  but  I will  state  in  a promis- 
cuous way  some  of  the  points.  Philosophers  have  troubled 
themselves  to  find  out  what  it  is  that  peculiarly  distinguishes 
man  from  the  rest  of  creation.  Some  have  called  man  “the 
talking  animal ;”  as  if  man  only  had  the  power  of  expressing 
his  ideas  in  language.  But  this  will  not  do.  Most  animals 
have  sounds  by  which  they  express  their  thoughts  and  feelings; 
and  some  may  be  made  even  to  articulate.  Some  have  asserted 
that  man  only  has  the  power  to  laugh,  and  they  have  called 
him  “the  laughing  animal/’  But  laughter  is  merely  the  exter- 
nal sign  of  an, inward  feeling;  and  who  will  assert  that  no  other 
animal  has  the  feeling  and  some  mode  of  expressing  it  exter- 
nally? The  monkey  as  it  plays  its  tricks  certainly  has  the 
feeling  of  the  ludicrous;  and  who  does  not  see  it  laughing  out 
“as  far  as  the  skin”?  The  monkey  does  not  break  out  in  loud 
guffaws,  it  is  true;  but  the  term  which  we  employ  to  denote  the 
loudest  kind  of  laughter  is  derived  from  another  of  the  lower 
animals,  the  horse.  If  the  word  “horse-laugh”  does  not  show 
that  horses  laugh,  what,  I beg  leave  to  ask,  does  it  show?  For 
Prof.  Teufelsdrockh’s  laughter  of  a whole  life-time  compressed 
into  one  gigantic  outburst  Carlyle  could  find  no  fitter  similitude 
than  “the  neighing  of  all  Tattersall’s” — TattersalFs,  as  is  known 
to  several,  being  an  immense  livery-stable.  And  did  not  that 
Australian  bird,  “the  laughing  jackass,”  when  we  first  saw  it 
in  Phoenix  Park  laugh  in  so  hearty  a way  that  it  threw  all  our 
company  into  paroxysms  of  laughter  that  might  have  been 


1 68 


THE  EATING  ANIMAL. 


heard  by  a considerable  portion  of  Ireland,  if  Ireland  had 
been  standing  with  “ erect  ears”?  Did  not  the  laughter  of 
a parrot  set  the  table  on  a roar  at  the  house  of  one  of  our 
friends  so  that  the  guffaws  met  the  dinner  and  prevailed  over 
it.  Man  then  is  not  entitled  to  the  appellation  of  “ the  laugh- 
ing animal.” 

In  the  same  way  I could  dispose  of  other  philosophers' 
speculations.  You  ask  me  then  in  what  does  man's  distinctive 
peculiarity  consist — what  is  man?  I reply  man  is  the  eating 
animal.  You  ask  me  if  I deny  that  other  animals  eat.  By  no 
means.  That  the  lower  animals  eat  is  a fact  too  well  established 
to  admit  of  discussion.  But  in  comparison  with  man  they  are 
exceedingly  limited  in  their  range  of  eating.  Some  animals  are 
carnivorous,  some  herbivorous,  some  granivorous,  others  gram- 
inivorous; but  man  is  omnivorous.  He  searches  throughout 
creation  for  something  to  put  in  his  stomach.  If  you  show 
any  beautiful  object  to  “the  infant  man,”  he  instantly  draws 
it  to  his  mouth,  the  opening  to  his  stomach.  Toys  and  clothes, 
shovel  and  tongs,  cups  and  saucers,  knives  and  forks  are  all 
drawn  to  this  vortex,  and  would  be  swallowed  if  the  aperture 
were  large  enough.  The  little  cannibal  opens  his  mouth  to 
swallow  his  father  and  mother,  his  brothers  and  sisters.  He 
reaches  out  his  hands  to  get  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  into  his 
mouth,  and  he  would  swallow  every  one  of  them,  if  he  could. 
Planet  after  planet,  and  system  after  system  would  go  plunging 
into  his  stomach,  if  he  could  only  make  them  find  their  way 
down.  Like  the  deity  of  the  pantheists,  he  would  absorb  all 
into  himself.  The  objective  would  be  lost  in  the  subjective — 
the  “not  me”  would  be  swallowed  up,  or  rather  down,  in 
the  “me.” 

In  this,  as  in  other  respects,  “ the  child  is  father  of  the  man.” 
The  grown-up  man,  it  is  true,  does  not  attempt  to  swallow  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars,  because  experience  has  shown  him  that 
the  thing  can  not  be  done.  He  does  not  offer  to  eat  his  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  because  these  brothers  and  sisters  have  invented 


THE  EATING  ANIMAL. 


169 


the  gallows  and  other  ingenious  contrivances  to  deter  him  from 
the  attempt.  He  does  not  try  to  devour  the  shovel  and  tongs, 
the  pots  and  the  pans;  because,  not  to  speak  of  the  danger 
of  choking  himself,  he  finds  they  can  be  made  more  useful  to 
him  in  putting  other  things  in  an  eatable  condition.  . But  still 
he  goes  about  the  world  seeking  what  he  may  devour.  With 
the  greatest  earnestness  he  is  ever  inquiring,  “ Who  will  show  us 
something  good  to  eat?”  He  sees  a beautiful  plant  and  imme- 
diately determines  to  try  if  it  can  be  eaten,  running  the  risk  of 
poisoning  himself  in  the  experiment.  The  beautiful  plumage 
and  song  of  the  bird  can  not  keep  it  out  of  his  stomach.  He 
sees  a little  shell  creep  along  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  and  he 
is  not  deterred  by  its  unsightliness  but  cracks  it  open  to  see  if  it 
does  not  contain  something  good  to  eat.  Nothing  comes  amiss, 
if  it  comes  at  all.  There  man  stands  with  his  mouth  open,  and 
the  fowl  of  the  air,  the  beast  of  the  field,  the  fish  of  the  sea, 
and  the  creeping  thing  all  go  tumbling  one  over  the  other  into 
the  great  pit  of  his  stomach,  which  as  it  receives  them  still 
cries,  “ Give ! give ! ” 

Man  may  be  regarded  as  an  ingenious  self-operating  trap, 
which  goes  about  the  world,  setting  itself  in  the  air,  on  the 
land,  in  the  water.  Is  he  not  then  the  eating  animal?  Can 
the  inferior  animals  when  compared  with  man  be  said  to 
eat  at  all? 

A philosopher  of  the  middle  ages  asserts  that  man’s  stomach 
is  the  seat  of  his  soul.  A good  deal  may  be  said  in  favor  of 
this  doctrine.  Do  we  not  always  act  as  if  the  soul  were  in  the 
stomach?  There  comes  among  us  a great  man  whom  we  wish 
to  honor  and  affect  with  pleasurable  sensations.  What  do  we 
do?  We  immediately  give  him  a public  dinner;  that  is,  we  put 
food  in  his  stomach,  as  if  we  knew  that  there  is  the  place  in 
which  his  feelings  reside.  A friend  comes  to  visit  us,  and  we 
touch  his  affections  by  touching  his  stomach.  We  wish  to  cele- 
brate the  return  of  a great  day,  and  we  fill  our  souls  with  joy 
by  filling  our  stomachs  with  food.  We  invite  our  friends  to  a 

iS 


I JO  THE  EATING  ANIMAL. 

wedding  or  a party,  and  we  wish  them  to  enjoy  the  greatest 
possible  amount  of  pleasure.  We  immediately  set  ourselves  to 
work  to  get  something  good  to  eat.  No  expense,  no  labor  is 
spared.  Cooks  and  confectioners  work  for  us  night  and  day. 
We  labor,  we  struggle,  we  exhaust  ourselves  and  our  pockets 
that  gladness  may  reach  the  soul  in  its  very  inmost  seat,  which 
we  have  learned  to  be  the  inmost  folds  of  the  stomach.  O! 
great  is  the  stomach,  and  man  is  its  expansion ! 


SHAKESPEARE’S  COMMENTATORS. 


THE  other  day  I happened  to  meet  with  the  volume  of 
Furness’s  “New  Variorum  Edition  of  Shakespeare”  that 
contains  “ Macbeth.”  In  looking  over  the  work  I find  some 
passages  which  I think  none  of  the  notes  by  the  various  com- 
mentators explain.  One  passage  in  particular  all  the  commen- 
tators have,  I think,  totally  misunderstood.  After  Lady  Macbeth 
has  swooned,  and  while  the  attention  of  all  the  thanes  is  fixed 
upon  her,  Malcolm  says  to  Donalbain : 

Malcolm.  Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues 

That  may  most  claim  this  argument  for  ours? 

Donalbain . What  should  be  spoken  here,  where  our  fate, 

Hid  in  an  auger-hole,  may  rush  and  seize  us? 

Let  ’s  away ; our  tears  are  not  yet  brewed. 

Malcolm.  Nor  our  strong  sorrow 

Upon  the  foot  of  motion. 

Banquo.  Look  to  the  lady ! 

And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid, 

That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet 

And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work, 

To  know  it  further.  Fears  and  scruples  shake  us. 

In  the  great  hand  of  God  I stand,  and  thence 
Against  the  undivulged  pretence  I fight 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macduff.  And  so  do  I. 

All.  So  all. 

Macbeth.  Let ’s  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness 
And  meet  in  the  hall  together. 

All.  Well  contented. 

[. Exeunt  all  but  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 
Malcolm.  What  will  you  do?  Let ’s  not  consort  with  them. 

To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow  is  an  office 

Which  the  false  man  does  easy.  I ’ll  to  England. 

(J7i) 


172 


SHAKESPEARE’S  COMMENTATORS. 


Donalbain . To  Ireland,  I.  Our  separated  fortune 

Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer.  Where  we  are 
There  ’s  daggers  in  men’s  smiles : the  near  in  blood 
The  nearer  bloody. 

Malcolm.  This  murderous  shaft  that ’s  shot 

Hath  not  yet  lighted,  and  our  safest  way 
Is  to  avoid  the  aim.  Therefore  to  horse; 

And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 

But  shift  away : there ’s  warrant  in  that  theft 

Which  steals  itself  when  there ’s  no  mercy  left. — Act  II.  sc.  3. 

All  the  commentators  say  that  by  “the  near  in  blood”  Don- 
albain means  Macbeth,  whom  he  suspects  of  the  murder.  My 
opinion  is  that  he  means  himself  and  Malcolm.  We  who  are 
near  in  blood  to  the  murdered  king  are  nearer  to  being  made 
bloody;  that  is,  murdered.  The  word  bloody  is  here  employed 
not  in  an  active  but  in  a passive  sense,  as  it  is  in  “ Romeo  and 
Juliet” : 

Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth, 

Lies  festering  in  his  shroud. 

The  meaning  seems  to  me  so  obvious  that  I can  not  see  how 
any  one  could  avoid  it,  except  by  going  purposely  out  of  the 
way.  How  could  nearness  of  blood  in  Macbeth  make  him 
“the  nearer  bloody”?  If  he  has  killed  Duncan,  how  can  he 
be  nearer  bloody,  either  in  disposition  or  in  act,  than  he  is? 
If  by  saying  “the  nearer  bloody”  Donalbain  means  that  Mac- 
beth is  more  likely  to  kill  them  than  is  any  one  else,  what  has 
that  to  do  with  their  danger?  To  be  murdered  by  Macbeth  is 
no  worse  than  to  be  murdered  by  any  other.  All  that  Donal- 
bain means  to  say  is  that  their  relationship  to  the  murdered 
Duncan  puts  them  in  danger.  Whoever  has  murdered  the 
father  will  not  stop  till  he  has  murdered  the  sons. 

It  is  amusing  to  see  how  the  commentators  often  mislead 
themselves. 

He  died 

As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death, 

To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  owed 
As ’t  were  a careless  trifle. 


SHAKESPEARE  S COMMENTATORS. 


I73 


Johnson  says  that  studied  means  “instructed  in  the  art  of  dying.” 
Here  what  is  plain  enough  is  rendered  unintelligible  by  the 
explanation.  The  meaning  is  that  he  died  as  if  he  had  studied 
to  throw  away  his  life  as  a careless  trifle.  The  comma  after 
death  should  be  omitted.  The  participial  form  is  often  employed 
for  an  adjective  form,  as  in  “the  guiled  shore  to  a most  danger- 
ous sea”  (“Merchant  of  Venice,”  iii,  2),  where  guiled= guileful. 
In  act  iv,  scene  1,  of  this  drama  “the  ravined  salt-sea  shark” 


means  the  ravenous  salt-sea  shark. 

After  Rosse  has  given  his  eloquent  description  of  the  state 
of  Scotland — 

Alas,  poor  country ! 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself!  It  can  not 

Be  called  our  mother,  but  our  grave ; where  nothing 

But  who  knows  nothing  is  once  seen  to  smile ; 

Where  sighs  and  groans  and  shrieks  that  rend  the  air 
Are  made,  not  marked ; where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A modern  ecstasy : the  dead  man’s  knell 
Is  there  scarce  asked  for  whom,  and  good  men’s  lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 

Dying  or  ere  they  sicken — 


Macduff  says:  ^ 

J O relation 

Too  nice  and  yet  too  true ! — Act  IV.  sc.  3. 

By  which  he  means  that  notwithstanding  the  relation  is  so  full 
of  distressing  particulars,  it  is  yet  too  true.  Who  could  have 
suspected  that  any  human  being  would  assert  that  Macduff  in 
this  excited  state  of  feeling  stopped  to  make  criticisms?  And 
yet  we  have  such  remarks  as  these:  “Affected,  elaborate;  it 
refers  to  the  rhetorical  style  decked  out  with  antithesis  and 
jnetaphors  in  which  Rosse  had  announced  the  state  of  Scot- 
land.”— Delius.  “It  seems  here  to  mean  ‘fancifully  minute/ 
‘set  forth  in  fastidiously  chosen  terms.’” — Clarendon.  “Too 
nice,  because  too  elaborate,  or  having  to  much  of  an  air  of 
study  and  art;  and  so  not  like  the  frank  utterance  of  deep 
feeling.” — Hudson . O that  a pen  should  be  dipped  in  ink  to 
write  such  things! 


174 


SHAKESPEARE  S COMMENTATORS. 


Rosse . Your  castle  is  surprised,  your  wife  and  babes 
Savagely  slaughtered.  To  relate  the  manner 
Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murdered  deer, 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 


Malcolm. 


Merciful  heaven! 


What,  man  ! ne’er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows : 
Give  sorrow  words ; the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o’erfraught  heart  and  bids  it  break. 


Macduff.  My  children  too  ? 


Rosse. 


Wife,  children,  servants,  all 


That  could  be  found. 


Macduff. 


And  I must  be  from  thence ! 


My  wife  killed  too? 


Rosse. 

Malcolm. 


I have  said. 


Be  comforted. 


Let ’s  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macduff.  He  has  no  children. — All  my  pretty  ones? 

Did  you  say  all  ? — O hell-kite  ! — All  ? 

What,  all  my  pretty  chickens  and  their  dam 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? — Act  IV.  sc.  3. 

Who  is  “he”  that  has  no  children?  Some  of  the  commen- 
tators say  that  Macbeth  is  “he,”  and  that  Macduff’s  meaning 
is  that  Macbeth  has  no  children  to  be  killed,  and  that  full 
revenge  is  therefore  impossible.  A horrible  idea!  They  object 
to  regarding  “he”  as  referring  to  Malcolm,  because,  they  say, 
Macduff  would  not  be  so  impolite  as  to  speak  at  his  sovereign 
in  such  a manner.  But  Macduff  is  full  of  other  thoughts  than 
thoughts  of  etiquette.  Rosse,  the  bringer  of  the  dreadful  news, 
is  to  him  at  this  time  the  most  important  person  in  existence. 
He  can  not  turn  away  from  him.  When  Malcolm  speaks  of 
curing  this  deadly  grief  the  desolate  man  says  to  Rosse  almost 
parenthetically,  “ He  has  no  children,”  and  is  immediately  ab* 
sorbed  in  his  loss.  An  avalanche  has  overwhelmed  him,  and 
he  can  not  make  a bow  to  those  who  are  looking  on. 

Lady  Macbeth.  Out,  damned  spot ! out,  I say  ! One,  two  : why,  then 
’t  is  time  to  do ’t.  — Hell  is  murky!  — Fie,  my  lord,  fie!  a soldier  and 
afeard ! What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our  power 


SHAKESPEARE’S  COMMENTATORS.  1 75 

to  account? — Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so 
much  blood  in  him? — Act  V.  sc.  I. 

Because  “Fie,  my  lord,  fie!  a soldier  and  afeard!”  follows  so 
closely  “ Hell  is  murky ! ” it  has  been  supposed  that  Lady  Mac- 
beth imagines  herself  reproaching  her  husband  for  his  fear  of 
hell,  which  he  is  supposed  to  have  expressed  in  “Hell  is 
murky.”  But  it  seems  better  to  regard  this  latter  expression 
as  revealing  her  own  dread  of  hell.  All  through  the  speech 
she  passes  abruptly  from  one  feeling  to  another.  She  first  tries 
to  rub  out  the  “damned  spot;”  then  suddenly  turns  to  listen  to 
the  clock;  then  is  excruciated  with  the  dread  of  hell;  then  im- 
agines herself  urging  on  Macbeth  to  the  commission  of  the 
deed  from  which  he  is  shrinking. 

Messenger.  As  I did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill 

I looked  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought, 

The  wood  began  to  move. 

Macbeth.  Liar  and  slave ! 

Messenger.  Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if  ’t  be  not  so. 

Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming: 

I say  a moving  grove. — Act  V.  sc.  5. 

Delius  says,  “For  dramatic  purposes  Shakespeare  has  here 
somewhat  shortened  the  distance  of  twelve  miles  between 
Birnam  and  Dunsinane.”  The  messenger  does  not  say  he 
saw  as  far  as  Birnam.  “I  looked  toward  Birnam.”  When 
he  looked  in  that  direction  he  saw  a moving  grove.  To  him  it 
began  to  move  when  he  first  set  eyes  on  it  at  the  distance  of 
three  miles. 

Macduff.  Then  yield  thee,  coward, 

And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o’  the  time : 

We  ’ll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are, 

Painted  upon  a pole,  and  underwrit, 

“ Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant.” — Act  V.  sc.  7. 


Instead  of  pole , one  suggests  cloth , another  suggests  scroll , 
apparently  thinking  that  Macbeth  could  not  be  painted  upon  a 


176 


SHAKESPEARE’S  COMMENTATORS. 


pole.  But  the  pole  was  merely  to  hold  up  the  board  or  cloth 
on  which  was  the  painting.  If  Shakespeare  had  foreseen  that 
any  one  would  find  difficulty  about  the  pole  he  might  have 
made  Macduff  say,  “ We  ’ll  have  thee  painted  upon  a board, 
which  board  shall  be  supported  by  a pole,  and  held  up  high  so 
that  all  may  see  it!  Take  care  to  observe,  Macbeth,  that  what 
is  to  be  painted  upon  the  pole  will  not  be  thyself,  but  only  thy 
image;  and  that  will  not  be  painted  on  the  pole  itself,  but  on 
that  which  is  to  be  upheld  by  the  pole.” 


COLERIDGE’S  TRANSLATION  OF  SCHILLER. 


VERY  one  knows  that  Coleridge’s  translation  of  Schiller’s 


Wallenstein  dramas  is  in  general  admirably  done;  but 
occasionally  it  fails  to  express  the  exact  meaning.  In  the  scene 
between  Wallenstein  and  the  Countess  Terzky,  after  they  have 
learned  of  the  death  of  Max  Piccolomini,  Wallenstein  tells  his 
sister  that  the  death  of  his  young  friend  has  destroyed  for  him 
all  the  beauty  of  life — that,  however  successful  he  may  be,  the 
beautiful  is  gone — that  comes  no  more. 

Was  ich  mir  ferner  auch  erstreben  mag, 

Das  Schone  ist  doch  weg ; das  kommt  nicht  wieder. 

Coleridge  does  not  bring  out  clearly  the  idea  of  success,  and 
he  does  not  translate  the  emphatic  das.  “ Whatever  fortunes 
wait  my  future  toils”  means  whether  I have  good  or  bad  for- 
tunes. This  is  Coleridge’s  translation : 


Of  Piccolomini.  What  was  his  death? 

The  courier  had  just  left  thee  as  I came. 

[ Wallenstein  by  a motion  of  his  hand  makes  signs  to  her  to  be  silent.  ] 
Turn  not  thine  eyes  upon  the  backward  view  ; 

Let  us  look  forward  unto  sunny  days ; 

Welcome  with  joyous  heart  the  victory ; 

Forget  what  it  has  cost  thee.  Not  to-day, 

For  the  first  time,  thy  friend  was  to  thee  dead ; 

To  thee  he  died  when  first  he  parted  from  thee. 

Wall.  This  anguish  will  be  wearied  down,  I know ; 

What  pang  is  permanent  with  man?  From  the  highest 


Wallenstein. 


O ! ’t  is  well 


With  him ! but  who  knows  what  the  coming  hour 
Veiled  in  thick  darkness  brings  for  us ! 


Countess. 


Thou  speakest 


i7» 


Coleridge’s  translation  of  schiller. 


As  from  the  vilest  thing  of  every  day 
He  learns  to  wean  himself ; for  the  strong  hours 
Conquer  him.  Yet  I feel  what  I have  lost 
In  him.  The  bloom  is  vanished  from  my  life; 

For  O!  he  stood  beside  me,  like  my  youth, 

Transformed  for  me  the  real  to  a dream, 

Clothing  the  palpable  and  the  familiar 
With  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn. 

Whatever  fortunes  wait  my  future  toils, 

The  beautiful  is  vanished — and  returns  not. 

Another  translation  of  the  passage  is  here  given : 

Wall.  O all  is  well  with  him ; but  who  can  tell 
What  the  next  hour,  black-veiled,  may  bring  to  us. 

Count.  Thou  speak’st  of  Piccolomini.  How  died  he? 

The  messenger  was  going  from  thee  as  I entered. 

[ Wallenstein  makes  a sign  with  his  hand  for  her  to  be  silent .] 
No  longer  turn  thy  look,  I pray  thee,  backward; 

But  forward  let  us  look  to  sunny  days. 

Enjoy  the  victory,  forget  its  cost. 

’T was  not  to  day  thy  friend  was  taken  from  thee; 

When  first  he  left  thee,  then  he  died  to  thee. 

Wall.  I shall  recover  from  this  blow,  I know. 

What  does  not  man  outlive?  From  the  highest, 

As  from  the  commonest,  he  weans  himself ; 

For  he  is  conquered  by  the  mighty  hours. 

But  yet  I feel  what  I have  lost  in  him. 

The  bloom  is  vanished  from  my  life  for  ever ; 

And  cold  and  colorless  it  lies  before  me. 

For  he  stood  by  me  like  my  early  youth ; 

He  changed  for  me  the  real  to  a dream, 

Around  the  plain  and  common  things  of  life 
Spreading  the  golden  vapors  of  the  dawn. 

Whate’er  success  attend  my  future  toils, 

The  beautiful  is  gone — that  comes  no  more. 

Coleridge’s  translation  of  the  beautiful  Song  of  Thekla  is  as 
follows : 


The  cloud  doth  gather,  the  greenwood  roar; 
The  damsel  paces  along  the  shore ; 


Coleridge’s  translation  of  schiller. 


!79 


The  billows  they  tumble  with  might,  with  might ; 

And  she  flings  out  her  voice  in  the  darksome  night ; 

Her  bosom  is  swelling  with  sorrow : 

The  world  it  is  empty,  the  heart  it  will  die, 

There’s  nothing  to  wish  for  beneath  the  sky. 

Thou  Holy  One,  take  thy  child  away! 

I ’ve  lived  and  loved,  and  that  was  to-day — 

Make  ready  my  grave-clothes  to-morrow. 

In  a note  Coleridge  says,  “ I found  it  not  in  my  power  to 
translate  this  song  with  literal  fidelity,  preserving  at  the  same 
time  the  Alcaic  movement;  and  have  therefore  added  the  orig- 
inal with  a prose  translation.  Some  of  my  readers  may  be 
more  fortunate.” 

Der  Eichwald  brauset,  die  Wolken  ziehn, 

Das  Magdlein  wandelt  an  Ufers  Griin, 

Es  bricht  sich  die  Welle  mit  Macht,  mit  Macht, 

Und  sie  singt  hinaus  in  die  finstre  Nacht, 

Das  Auge  von  Weinen  getriibet: 

Das  Herz  ist  gestorben,  die  Welt  ist  leer, 

Und  weiter  giebt  sie  dem  Wunsche  nichts  mehr. 

Du  Heilige,  rufe  dein  Kind  curiick; 

Ich  habe  genossen  das  irdische  Gliick, 

Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geliebet. 

This  is  the  literal  translation: 

“The  oak-forest  bellows,  the  clouds  gather,  the  damsel  walks  to  and 
fro  on  the  green  of  the  shore ; the  wave  breaks  with  might,  with  might, 
and  she  sings  out  into  the  dark  night,  her  eye  discolored  with  weeping : 
The  heart  is  dead,  the  world  is  empty,  and  further  gives  it  nothing  more 
to  the  wish.  Thou  Holy  One,  call  thy  child  home.  I have  enjoyed  the 
happiness  of  this  world,  I have  lived  and  have  loved.” 


Instead  of  representing  the  heart  as  already  dead,  Coleridge 
says  it  will  die.  But  the  greatest  fault  is  in  the  close.  The 
chief  beauty  of  the  original  is  in  the  concluding  point,  “ I have 
lived  and  loved,” 


Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geliebet. 


180  Coleridge’s  translation  of  schiller. 

But  Coleridge  has  weakened  the  sentiment  by  adding  a line 
and  a half,  in  order  to  make  a rhyme  for  sorrow. 

The  following  attempt  to  comply  with  Coleridge’s  invitation 
is  at  least  free  from  the  faults  mentioned : 

The  dark  clouds  rush ! hear  the  forest  roar ! 

The  maiden  wanders  along  the  shore. 

The  waves  are  breaking  with  might,  with  might ! 

And  the  maiden  sings  out  to  the  murky  night, 

Her  tear-troubled  eye  upward  roving  : 

My  heart  is  dead,  the  world  is  a void ; 

There  is  nothing  in  it  to  be  enjoyed. 

O Father,  call  home  thy  child  to  thee; 

For  all  the  bliss  that  on  earth  can  be 
I have  had  in  living  and  loving. 


SOME  SHAKESPEARE  “READINGS.” 


IN  reading,  some  years  ago,  Eckermann’s  “ Conversations 
with  Gothe,”  I was,  I remember,  amused  with  the  cool- 
ness with  which  Eckermann  would,  as  he  represents  the  matter 
in  his  book,  say  in  effect  to  the  poet,  “ I think  you  meant  so 
and  so  in  this  passage/'  giving  some  meaning  entirely  different 
from  what  Gothe  supposed  he  had  expressed.  “ Perhaps  I did 
mean  that,"  Gothe  would  say.  We  have  no  record  of  any 
conversation  in  which  Shakespeare  was  coaxed  to  mean  some- 
thing which  he  did  not  mean — more ’s  the  pity ! What  a help 
such  a conversation  would  have  been  to  M.  Taine  in  some  of 
his  brilliant  (and  silly)  generalizations!  But  there  are  some 
who,  like  Goneril,  will  take  the  thing  they  beg;  and  as  Shake- 
speare can  not  protest,  they  will  make  him  say  what  they 
please.  When  the  foolish  and  self-conceited  old  courtier  who 
has  just  boastingly  said, 

» I will  find 

Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  hid  indeed 
Within  the  center, 

comes  to  Hamlet  to  find  out  the  cause  of  his  madness,  or 
rather  to  get  a confirmation  of  his  opinion  already  formed, 
Hamlet  speaks  to  him  in  a purposely  flippant  manner. 


Polonius.  How  does  my  good  lord  Hamlet? 
Hamlet.  Well,  God-’a-mercy. 

Polonius.  Do  you  know  me,  my  lord? 

Hamlet.  Excellent  well.  You  are  a fishmonger. 
Polonius.  Not  I,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  Then  I would  you  were  so  honest  a man. 
Polonius . Honest,  my  lord? 


182 


SOME  SHAKESPEARE  “ READINGS.” 

Hamlet.  Ay,  sir ; to  be  honest  as  this  world  goes  is  to  be  one  man 
picked  out  of  ten  thousand. 

Polonius.  That ’s  very  true,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  For  if  the  sun  breed  maggots  in  a dead  dog,  being  a god 
kissing  carrion — have  you  a daughter? 

Polonius . I have,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  Let  her  not  walk  i’  the  sun.  Conception  is  a blessing ; but 
not  as  your  daughter  may  conceive — friend,  look  to  ’t. 

Polonius.  [Aside.]  How  say  you  by  that?  Still  harping  on  my  daugh- 
ter. Yet  he  knew  me  not  at  first;  he  said  I was  a fishmonger.  He  is  far 
gone,  far  gone.  And  truly  in  my  youth  I suffered  much  extremity  for 
love,  very  near  this.  I ’ll  speak  to  him  again. — What  do  you  read,  my 
lord  ? 

Hamlet.  Words,  words,  words. 

Polonius.  What  is  the  matter,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  Between  whom  ? 

Polonius.  I mean  the  matter  that  you  read,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  Slanders,  sir;  for  the  satirical  rogue  says  here  that  old  men 
have  grey  beards,  etc. 

In  what  tone  does  Hamlet  say  “ words,  words,  words  ”? 
Evidently  in  the  same  flippant  tone  which  he  uses  in  the  rest 
of  the  dialogue — “ words,  words,  words,”  with  the  rising  inflec- 
tion, meaning  “ Words  of  course,  what  could  I be  reading  but 
words  ?”  But  actors  and  readers  have  coaxed  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent meaning  out  of  these  “words.”  They  read  them  in  a 
solemn  and  sententious  manner  with  the  falling  inflection,  as 
if  Hamlet  were  satirizing  his  book  as  containing  nothing  but 
words.  Salvini’s  version  is 

Parole,  e poi  parole,  e poi  parole. 

These  words  he  utters  in  such  a way  as  to  give  the  greatest 
force  to  the  (supposed)  satire — “Parole,  e poi  parole,  e poi — 
parole,”  making  an  expressive  pause  and  lowering  his  voice  to 
its  deepest  tones  at  the  last  parole — “Words,  and  then  words, 
and  then — words.”  Now  Hamlet’s  intention  is  not  to  satirize 
his  book;  he  is  merely  “answering  a fool  according  to  his 
folly.”  To  try  to  turn  the  answer  into  a satire  completely  spoils 
the  whole  passage. 


SOME  SHAKESPEARE  “READINGS.”  183 

The  Italian  version  shows  that  the  translator  had  a correct 
idea  of  the  meaning  of  a passage  which  is  generally  misunder- 
stood, as  I think.  Speaking  of  Hamlet’s  father,  Horatio  says, 

I saw  him  once,  he  was  a goodly  king. 

Hamlet  replies, 

He  was  a man  take  him  for  all  in  all 
I shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again, 

which  is  generally  supposed  to  mean  “He  was  a man  upon 
whose  like  I shall  not  look  again,  take  him  for  all  in  all.”  The 
passage  according  to  this  reading  has  no  points  except  the  two 
commas  which  separate  “take  him  for  all  in  all”  from  the  rest 
of  the  sentence — 

He  was  a man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 

I shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 

But  I think  that  Hamlet’s  meaning  is,  “He  was  more  than  a 
king;  he  was  a man”  and  I should  place  a semicolon  after 
man  and  give  a strong  emphasis  to  the  word — 

He  was  a man;  take  him  for  all  in  all, 

I shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 

Mr.  Hudson  says  he  sees  no  reason  for  this  reading;  but  I 
think  there  are  very  good  reasons  for  it.  One  reason  is  that 
the  passage  is  not  in  the  proper  form  to  express  the  meaning 
usually  attributed  to  it.  To  express  that  meaning  whose , not 
his , should  be  employed — “ He  was  a man  upon  whose  like  I 
shall  not  look  again.”  Another  reason  is  that  Hamlet’s  highest 
idea  of  his  father  is  that  he  was  a man. 

See  what  a grace  was  seated  on  this  brow : 

Hyperion’s  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 

An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command ; 

A station  like  the  herald  Mercury 
New-lighted  on  a heaven-kissing  hill; 

A combination  and  a form  indeed 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 

To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a man. 


184 


SOME  SHAKESPEARE  u READINGS.1 


Salvini’s  translator  understood  the  passage;  but  he  did  not 
know  the  weakening  effect  of  an  attempt  to  strengthen  Shake- 
speare; with  his  props  he  has  pushed  the  building  over. 

Oraz.  Nobil  monarca  egli  era ! 

Ami.  Era  un  uom,  nel  verace  e miglior  senso : 

Ne  alcun  mai  rivedro  che  lo  pareggi. 

Horatio.  A noble  monarch  he  was ! 

Hamlet.  He  was  a man,  in  the  true  and  better  sense. 

Nor  shall  I ever  see  any  one  to  equal  him. 

I call  to  mind  another  striking  passage  of  Shakespeare  which 
is  generally  read  in  such  a way  as  to  show  that  it  is  misunder- 
stood. When  the  death  of  the  wretched  queen  is  announced 
to  him  Macbeth  says: 

She  should  have  died  hereafter; 

There  would  have  been  a time  for  such  a word. 

To-morrow  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 

To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time ; 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 

The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out,  brief  candle ! 

Life ’s  but  a walking  shadow,  a poor  player, 

That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 

And  then  is  heard  no  more.  It  is  a tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 

Signifying  nothing. 

Place  the  emphasis  on  hereafter  and  time — 

She  should  have  died  hereafter ; 

There  would  have  been  a time  for  such  a word — 

and  you  convey  the  idea  that  it  would  have  been  better  for  her 
to  die  at  some  future  time  than  now.  But  this  is  contrary  to 
the  whole  tenor  of  the  speech.  Macbeth’s  meaning  is  that  she 
was  destined  to  die  at  some  time  or  other,  and  life  being  so 
insignificant  an  affair  — a brief  candle,  a walking  shadow,  a 
poor  player,  an  idiot’s  tale — it  was  as  well  for  her  to  die  now 


SOME  SHAKESPEARE  u READINGS.”  1 85 

as  at  any  other  time.  The  emphasis  should  be  placed  on 
should  and  would — 

She  should  have  died  (was  destined  to  die)  hereafter ; 

There  would  have  been  a time  for  such  a word — 

and  she  has  lost  nothing  by  dying  now. 

There  happens  to  come  to  my  mind  another  passage  which 
I think  is  generally  read  incorrectly.  In  the  fight  with  Douglas 
Falstaff  falls  to  the  ground  and  counterfeits  death.  After  the 
fight  with  Hotspur  Prince  Henry  sees  him  on  the  ground, 
and  says, 

What ! old  acquaintance  ! could  not  all  this  flesh 
Keep  in  a little  life?  Poor  Jack,  farewell! 

I could  have  better  spared  a better  man. 

O ! I should  have  a heavy  miss  of  thee, 

If  I were  much  in  love  with  vanity. 

Death  hath  not  struck  so  fat  a deer  to-day, 

Though  many  dearer,  in  this  bloody  fray. 

Embowelled  will  I see  thee  by  and  by ; 

Till  then  in  blood  by  noble  Percy  lie. 

Falstaff  rises  slowly  and  says, 

Embowelled ! if  thou  embowel  me  to-day,  I ’ll  give  you  leave  to  pow- 
der me,  and  eat  me  too  to-morrow.  ’Sblood ! ’t  was  time  to  counterfeit, 
or  that  hot  termagant  Scot  had  paid  me  scot  and  lot  too. 

In  “?twas  time  to  counterfeit”  the  actors  place  the  emphasis 
on  counlerfeit;  but  it  should  be  placed  on  time . Falstaff  had  * 
been  counterfeiting  for  some  time,  and  he  says  now  that  it  was 
time  to  do  what  he  did. 


WORDSWORTH’S  POETRY. 


ORDSWORTH  slowly  gained  his  place  among  the 


world’s  great  bards,  and  he  will  retain  it.  In  his 
progress  to  the  eminence  which  he  gained  he  met  with  the 
most  determined  opposition,  and  was  obliged  to  force  his  way 
against  ridicule  and  contempt.  Like  Psyche  on  her  way  to 
the  charmed  fountain,  he  saw  before  him  sleepless  dragons  and 
heard  innumerable  voices  forbidding  him  to  proceed.  But  he 
went  on  in  the  true  spirit  of  heroism. 

The  principal  cause  of  the  violence  against  Wordsworth  was 
his  theory  that  the  humblest  subjects  are  fit  for  poetry,  and  that 
the  language  should  be  the  “ real  language  of  men  in  a state  of 
vivid  sensation.”  It  was  contended  that  some  of  his  subjects 
are  essentially  low  and  utterly  destitute  of  all  poetical  capabili- 
ties; that  garden -spades,  sparrows’  nests,  leech -gatherers,  and 
peddlers  can  have  no  connection  with  poetical  feeling  but  that 
which  is  forced,  strained,  and  unnatural. 

Lord  Jeffrey,  by  whom  chiefly  the  charges  against  Words- 
worth were  made,  was  not  the  man  to  appreciate  the  genius  of 
this  poet,  or  of  any  one  who  disregarded  the  conventionalities 
of  poetry.  He  acknowledged  the  right  of  the  muse  to  all  the 
property  which  she  had  held  “time  whereof  the  memory  of 
man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary,”  but  he  was  unwilling  to 
see  her  making  any  addition  to  her  possessions.  Society  had 
agreed  to  consider  certain  subjects  poetical,  and  no  others  were 
to  be  viewed  in  a poetical  light.  Especially  was  poetry  to  be- 
ware of  touching  any  subjects  which  society  had  agreed  to 
consider  ridiculous  or  contemptible.  But,  notwithstanding  the 
magisterial  decisions  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,,  there  is  truth 


(186) 


WORDSWORTH’S  POETRY. 


x87 


in  the  theory  of  the  poet.  The  true  poet,  according  to  the 
etymology  of  the  word,  is  a maker — a creator.  He  himself 
throws  upon  the  object  the  hues  of  poetry.  The  poetic  spirit 
is  a prism  that  casts  upon  even  the  commonest  objects  the 
splendor  of  the  rainbow.  It  is  the  poet’s  soul  that  “gives 
splendor  to  the  grass”  and  “glory  to  the  flower.”  To  him 
whose  soul  is  full  of  poetry  “every  common  sight”  seems 

“ Apparelled  in  celestial  light, 

The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a dream.’’ 

And  in  general  nature  is  to  each  one  what  his  own  spirit  makes 
it.  When  Hamlet  had  “lost  all  his  mirth,”  the  whole  aspect 
of  nature  was  changed  into  gloom.  “This  goodly  frame,  the 
earth,”  says  he,  “seems  to  me  a sterile  promontory;  this  most 
excellent  canopy,  the  air,  this  brave  o’erhanging  firmament,  this 
majestical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why,  it  appeareth  noth- 
ing to  me  but  a foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapors.” 
The  dark  soul  rays  out  darkness  on  every  thing  around,  and 
of  course  sees  every  thing  in  dark  colors.  Even  the  silver 
moonbeam  is  blackened  by  the  medium  through  which  it 
passes.  The  purple  and  gold  of  the  beautiful  flowers  are 
only  variations  of  the  same  sombre  hue. 

No  objects  are  poetical  to  any  but  a poetic  soul.  The  most 
gorgeous  sunset  is  to  some  minds  nothing  but  colored  clouds. 
The  lofty  mountain  clad  in  heaven’s  own  blue  is  to  the  man 
of  mere  facts  nothing  more  than  elevated  land  rendered  misty 
by  the  distance.  Even  the  Falls  of  Niagara  to  some  may  be 
merely  a fine  place  for  sponging  a coat.  When  Peter  Bell 
looked  out  upon  nature — 

“ A primrose  by  the  river’s  brim 
A yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 

And  it  was  nothing  more.” 

To  the  Peter  Bells  a rainbow  is  a rainbow;  but  another  may 
say: 

“My  heart  leaps  up  when  I behold 
A rainbow  in  the  sky.” 


1 88 


WORDSWORTH  S POETRY. 


If  then  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  beholder  that  adds  to  the  objects 
around  “the  consecration  and  the  poet’s  dream,”  where  is  the 
limit?  Why  may  not  even  garden  - spades  and  birds’  nests 
be  clothed  with  the  glory  that  radiates  from  the  poet’s  soul  ? 
A glove  is  a piece  of  leather  made  to  fit  the  hand;  but  the 
lover,  when  he  sees  the  glove  of  his  mistress,  exclaims, 

4 ‘Sweet  ornament  that  decks  a thing  divine!  ” 

The  lover  is  filled  with  poetical  feelings,  and  the  meanest  objects 
appear  to  him  in  golden  hues.  To  use  the  language  of  Words- 
worth himself — 

His  present  mind 
Was  under  fascination;  he  beheld 
A vision,  and  adored  the  thing  he  saw. 

Arabian  fiction  never  filled  the  world 

With  half  the  wonders  that  were  wrought  for  him : 

Earth  breathed  in  one  great  presence  of  the  spring, 

Life  turned  the  meanest  of  her  implements 
Before  his  eyes  to  price  above  all  gold ; 

The  house  she  dwelt  in  was  a sacred  shrine, 

Her  chamber-window  did  surpass  in  glory 
The  portals  of  the  dawn ; all  paradise 
Could,  by  the  simple  opening  of  a door, 

Let  itself  in  upon  him ; pathways,  walks, 

Swarmed  with  enchantment. 

Wordsworth’s  soul  was  like  that  of  a lover — he  was  a lover, 
and  Nature  was  his  mistress.  He  showed  his  devotion,  not  in 
violent  outbursts  of  passion,  but  in  a calm,  deep-seated  affection 
that  centered  in  his  heart  and  spread  over  his  whole  being.  An 
atmosphere  of  love  floated  around  him,  and  the  meanest  objects 
glowed  in  its  splendor.  What  object  was  unpoetical  to  him, 
when  it  was  robed  in  the  hues  of  his  own  spirit  ? When  the 
glory  has  departed  from  the  trees  of  the  forest — when  the 
leaves  are  fallen,  and  the  bare  branches  in  the  roaring  of  the 
wind  seem  to  wail  for  the  lost  ones,  few  would  look  for  images 
of  beauty  in  the  forest.  But,  as  if  to  make  the  scene  more 
dreary  still,  the  cold  rains  fall  and  freeze,  and  tree  and  shrub 


WORDSWORTH’S  POETRY. 


189 


are  covered  with  chilling  ice.  Common  eyes  see  no  beauty 
there.  But  the  sun  rises  and  looks  out  upon  this  gloomy  scene 
and  beholds  a forest  of  diamonds.  Every  twig  sparkles  and 
flashes.  The  meanest  shrub  is  decked  with  the  most  brilliant 
gems.  It  is  the  sun’s  own  light  that  has  transformed  sluggish 
ice  into  gems  of  unrivaled  splendor.  Wordsworth’s  spirit  was 
like  the  sun,  and  to  it  a garden-spade  flashed  in  light  and  the 
eggs  in  a sparrow’s  nest  sparkled  like  diamonds. 

Mr.  Hudson  somewhere  says : “ He  that  does  not  see  poetry 
in  every  thing  will  scarcely  see  it  in  any  thing.”  In  other 
words,  he  that  sees  it  in  any  thing  will  see  it  in  every  thing. 
The  true  poet  can  say — 

“To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears.” 

“The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine”  may  be  considered  the 
sense  by  which  the  beautiful  is  perceived  as  color  is  perceived 
by  the  eye.  The  poet  is  a seer — one  who  “sees  into  the  life 
of  things”  by  means  of  “the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine.” 
In  the  language  of  Mrs.  Hemans, 

There ’s  beauty  all  around  our  paths,  if  but  our  watchful  eyes 
Can  see  it  in  familiar  things  and  in  their  lowly  guise. 

But  to  him  who  has  not  “the  vision”  it  is  as  imperceptible  as 
are  colors  to  the  blind. 

In  regard  to  Wordsworth’s  theory  of  poetical  expression  there 
has  been  great  misrepresentation.  It  has  been  said  that  he  was 
in  favor  of  using  the  ordinary  language  of  common  conversa- 
tion as  the  means  of  presenting  poetical  ideas.  But  it  was 
“the  real  language  of  men  in  a state  of  vivid  sensation ” that  he 
professed  to  adopt,  and  not  only  this,  but  a selection  from  that 
language.  He  sometimes  carried  his  theory  too  far;  but,  if  we 
look  at  the  fashionable  poetical  diction  of  the  time  at  which  he 
began  to  write,  we  shall  not  wonder  at  his  remonstrance  against 
it.  The  polished,  artificial  style  of  Pope  had  been  imitated  by 


190 


WORDSWORTH'S  POETRY. 


“base  mechanicals"  till  it  had  become  disgusting.  Many  of 
Pope's  imitators,  who  were  entirely  destitute  of  genius,  could 
equal  Pope  himself  in  the  mechanical  construction  of  verses. 
Cowper  complains  that  Pope  has 

Made  poetry  a mere  mechanic  art, 

And  every  warbler  has  his  tune  by  heart. 

His  resounding  line,  his  artificial  caesura,  his  turns  of  expression, 
had  been  attained  even  by  the  scribblers  of  the  Della  Cruscan 
school.  Many  thought  they  were  writing  poetry  if  they  could 
manufacture  sonorous  lines  filled  with  muses  and  nymphs  and 
Pierian  springs.  They  seemed  to  suppose  that  mankind  could 
be  warmed  by  the  glitter  of  ice.  A set  of  Salmoneuses  tried 
to  imitate  Jupiter's  thunder  by  driving  wagons  over  a bridge, 
and  the  credulous  world,  unconscious  of  the  absence  of  the 
lightning,  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with  the  sound.  Dr.  Darwin, 
in  glittering  verse  filled  with  the  fashionable  poetical  language 
of  the  time,  celebrated  the  loves  of  pistils  and  stamens,  and  the 
world  considered  his  work  poetry. 

Against  poetry  of  this  kind  one  might  exclaim  as  Chaucer's 
host  did  against  the  “Rime  of  Sire  Thopas" — 

Now  swiche  a rime  the  devil  I beteche, 

This  may  well  be  rime  doggerel. 

It  was  against  this  frigid  conventional  language  that  Wordsworth 
protested.  Percy's  Reliques  showed  that  poetry  could  exist  with- 
out the  fashionable  dress  that  had  been  supposed  necessary — 
that  the  most  homely  words  might  contain  fire  enough  to  make 
them  “words  that  burn."  Wordsworth  saw  the  swelling  hol- 
lowness and  the  cold  glitter  of  the  style  in  vogue,  and  formed  a 
theory  directly  opposed  to  the  prevailing  laws.  When  greatly 
disgusted  with  the  empty  sounds  that  passed  for  poetry,  he 
sometimes  went  to  the  opposite  extreme.  When  ridiculed  and 
abused  on  all  sides,  he  may  have  written  some  things  from  a 
feeling  of  obstinacy.  But  those  who  suppose  that  his  poems  in 


WORDSWORTH  S POETRY. 


I9I 

general  are  written  in  the  style  of  ordinary  life  are  greatly  mis- 
taken. His  verse  is  not  filed  and  polished  till  you  see  nothing 
but  glitter,  but  it  glows  with  internal  heat.  It  has  the  elevation 
that  elevated  sentiments  select  for  themselves.  It  does  not 
turn  aside  for  ornaments,  but  it  takes  the  richest  that  lie  in 
its  way. 

While  the  critical  world  was  ridiculing  Wordsworth,  Scott 
and  Byron  appeared.  While  Scott  was  celebrating  the  knightly 
deeds  of  “ the  olden  time,”  and  Byron  was  giving  exhibitions 
of  scorn  and  hate,  the  calm  voice  which  invited  men  to  hold 
communion  with  nature  was  disregarded.  Men  were  unwilling 
to  leave  the  company  of  “ lords  and  ladies  gay”  to  walk  among 
the  woods  and  fields.  The  glitter  of  diamonds  was  more  attract- 
ive than  the  visionary  gleam  of  the  grass  and  flower.  The 
flaming  passion  of  bandits  and  corsairs  blinded  the  eye  to  the 
gentle  radiance  of  the  loving  soul.  The  roar  of  ocean  made 
the  ear  deaf  to  the  soft  music  that  ascends  from  mountain-top 
and  valley.  Those  who  were  “in  beauty’s  circle  proudly  gay,” 
laughed  at  the  recluse  who  invited  them  to  view  “the  bare 
earth  and  mountains  bare.”  But  those  who  followed  him  found 
“new  heavens  and  a new  earth.”  The  familiar  objects  of 
nature  had  been  re-created,  and  glowed  in  a light  which  was 
not  of  “the  common  day.”  Inanimate  objects  were  clothed 
with  life,  and  the  light  of  eternity  beamed  upon  the  things  of 
time.  Bryant  told  the  poet  Dana  “that  upon  opening  Words- 
worth a thousand  springs  seemed  to  gush  up  at  once  in  his 
heart,  and  the  face  of  nature  of  a sudden  to  change  into  a 
strange  freshness  and  life.” 

Wordsworth  was  one  of  the  most  ardent  worshipers  of  nature 
that  ever  lived.  But  it  was  not  the  mere  outward  form  that  he 
adored.  In  the  dark  forms  of  matter  he  saw  a spirit — the  eter- 
nal spirit  of  love  and  beauty  that  pervades  the  universe.  He 
loved  nature,  not  with  ungovernable  outbursts  of  burning  pas- 
sion, but  with 

A calm,  a beautiful,  and  silent  fire. 


192 


WORDSWORTH’S  POETRY. 


He  believed  in  the  sentiment  expressed  by  Protesilaus  in  that 
exquisite  poem,  “Lodamia’’ — 

The  gods  approve 

The  depth  and  not  the  tumult  of  the  soul. 

He  is  not  like  HHna  or  Vesuvius,  raging  and  spouting  forth 
flames  and  smoke,  but  rather  like  Atlas,  in  majestic  calmness 
supporting  the  heavens.  His  quietism,  however,  is  the  very 
opposite  of  apathy.  He  enjoys 

“ Deep  self-possession,  an  intense  repose.” 

The  quiet  of  his  eye  was  “the  rest  of  infinite  motion.”  He 
described  nature  in  her  material  aspects.  See,  for  instance,  the 
gorgeous  description  of  clouds  after  a storm.  But  generally  he 
throws  a spiritual  hue  over  nature — 

“From  worlds  not  quickened  by  the  sun 
A portion  of  the  gift  is  won ; 

An  intermingling  of  Heaven’s  pomp  is  spread 
On  ground  which  British  shepherds  tread.” 

There  is  a heaven-descended  soul  in  nature  which  awakens  a 
soul  in  the  spectator.  See  his  description  of  a youthful  poet’s 
feelings : 

What  soul  was  his,  when  from  the  naked  top 

Of  some  bold  headland  he  beheld  the  sun 

Rise  up  and  bathe  the  world  in  light ! He  looked — 

Ocean  and  earth,  the  solid  frame  of  earth 
And  ocean’s  liquid  mass  beneath  him  lay 
In  gladness  and  deep  joy.  The  clouds  were  touched, 

And  in  their  silent  faces  could  he  read 
Unutterable  love.  Sound  needed  none, 

Nor  any  voice  of  joy;  his  spirit  drank 
The  spectacle;  sensation,  soul,  and  form 
All  melted  into  him  ; they  swallowed  up 
His  animal  being ; in  them  did  he  live, 

And  by  them  did  he  live ; they  were  his  life. 

In  such  access  of  mind,  in  such  high  hour 
Of  visitation  from  the  living  God, 

Thought  was  not;  in  enjoyment  it  expired. 

No  thanks  he  breathed;  he  proffered  no  request; 


\ 


WORDSWORTH’S  POETRY. 


193 


Rapt  into  still  communion  that  transcends 
The  imperfect  offices  of  prayer  and  praise, 

His  mind  was  a thanksgiving  to  the  power 
That  made  him — it  was  blessedness  and  love. 

A herdsman  on  the  lonely  mountain-top, 

Such  intercourse  was  his,  and  in  this  sort 
Was  his  existence  oftentimes  possessed. 

Oh ! then  how  beautiful,  how  bright  appeared 
The  written  promise!  Early  had  he  learned 
To  reverence  the  volume  that  displays 
The  mystery,  the  life  which  can  not  die ; 

But  in  the  mountains  did  he  feel  his  faith. 

All  things,  responsive  to  the  writing,  there 
Breathed  immortality,  revolving  life, 

And  greatness  still  revolving,  infinite; 

There  littleness  was  not ; the  least  of  things 
Seemed  infinite;  and  there  his  spirit  shaped 
Her  prospects,  nor  did  he  believe — he  saw. 

What  wonder  if  his  being  thus  became 
Sublime  and  comprehensive!  Low  desires, 

Low  thoughts  had  there  no  place. 

We  have  quoted  this  passage  at  length,  because  it  shows 
better  than  we  could  do  the  light  in  which  nature  appeared  to 
the  poet.  A true  priest  of  nature,  he  saw  a divinity  in  the 
image. 

The  poem  of  Wordsworth  to  which  we  turn  oftenest  and 
with  the  greatest  pleasure  is  the  “Ode  on  the  Intimations  of 
Immortality  from  the  Recollections  of  Childhood.”  We  have 
read  it  again  and  again,  and  every  time  with  new  pleasure.  It 
is  pure  nectar.  There  is  something  in  it  far  above  the  reach  of 
Pindar.  It  is  Pindar  and  Plato  united. 

And  yet  the  Edinburgh  Review  pronounced  this  poem  “be- 
yond all  doubt,  the  most  illegible  and  unintelligible  part”  of 
a volume  which  it  had  decided  to  be  full  of  nonsense ! The 
reviewer  passes  it  by,  seeming  to  make  a merit  of  seeing  no 
possible  explanation  of  it!  The  man  who  can  not  understand 
this  should  be  careful  how  he  sets  himself  up  as  a standard  of 
taste.  The  first  passage  quoted  as  unintelligible  is  one  in  which 

i7 


194 


WORDSWORTH’S  POETRY. 


the  poet  complains  that  some  of  the  glory  which  surrounded 
objects  in  his  childhood  has  passed  away.  One  tree  and  one 
field  in  particular  are  not  what  they  were.  The  pansy  at  his 
feet  has  suffered  the  same  loss,  and  the  poet  exclaims,  “ Whither 
has  the  glory  fled!”  It  is  just  as  intelligible  in  Wordsworth’s 
poetry  as  in  our  prose — 

But  there ’s  a tree,  of  many,  one, 

A single  field  which  I have  looked  upon, 

Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone ; 

The  pansy  at  my  feet 
Doth  the  same  tale  repeat — 

Whither  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 

Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ? 

This  passage  is  given  up  as  one  which  the  critic  can  not 
understand,  and  the  intimation  is  given  that  no  one  else  need 
attempt  to  fathom  its  meaning. 

Let  him  who  would  see  more  in  nature  than  he  has  ever 
seen  before  become  familiar  with  Wordsworth.  Let  him  accom- 
pany this  pious  worshiper  of  nature,  and  he  will  have 

“A  sense  sublime 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 

Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 

And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 

And  the  blue  sky  and  in  the  mind  of  man.” 


CIVILIZED  WARFARE. 


THESE  two  words  may  seem  almost  opposed  to  each 
other;  but  civilization  has  had  some  influence  even  on 
war.  The  savage  tortures  his  enemy,  scalps  him,  eats  him,  and 
kills  his  wife  and  children.  But  among  civilized  nations  the 
warrior  does  not  live  on  the  flesh  of  his  enemies,  as  the  com- 
missary’s accounts  abundantly  show;  nor  does  he  adorn  his 
person  with  strings  of  scalps,  nor  murder  women  and  children 
without  disapprobation.  War  has  even  its  virtues,  not  reckon- 
ing personal  courage,  which  is  by  no  means  the  highest.  The 
true  soldier  is  merciful  and  generous,  frank  and  truthful,  court- 
eous to  all,  and  prompt  to  acknowledge  the  merits  even  of  an 
enemy.  In  short  there  is  no  occasion  why  every  soldier  may 
not  be  in  his  sphere  a Chevalier  Bayard,  “ without  fear  and 
without  reproach.”  A “ rowdy”  can  not  be  a good  soldier; 
the  “rowdies”  failed  in  the  time  of  their  trial  in  the  battle  of 
Manassas.  When  we  read  accounts  of  generous  conduct  in 
times  of  war,  every  one  feels  a thrill  of  pleasure,  no  matter  on 
what  side  his  sympathies  may  be  enlisted.  Men  may  be  kind- 
hearted  and  even  polite  without  being  the  less  brave.  “The 
bravest  are  the  tenderest.”  It  is  related  that  when  some  of  the 
English  soldiers  met  the  French  Guards  in  the  battle  of  Fonte- 
noy,  the  English  cried  out,  “ Gentlemen  of  the  Guards,  fire ! ” 
The  Frenchmen  replied,  “The  French  Guards  never  fire  first.” 
French  politeness  conquered,  and  the  English  were  obliged  to 
fire  first.  History,  though  urged  thereto  by  the  most  weighty 
considerations,  has  never  furnished  the  documents  for  estab- 
lishing the  truth  of  this  story;  and  we  are  inclined  to  think 
that  it  is  not  necessary  to  carry  politeness  quite  so  far.  But  the 


196 


CIVILIZED  WARFARE. 


combatants  may  extend  to  each  other  many  courtesies.*  In 
the  battle  of  Talavera  the  combat  was  suspended  during  the 
extreme  heat  of  the  day.  “The  troops  on  either  part/’  says 
Alison,  “ overcome  by  thirst,  straggled  down  in  great  numbers 
to  the  streamlet  which  ran  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  which 
separated  the  two  armies.  Not  a shot  was  fired,  not  a drum 
was  beat ; peaceably  the  foemen  drank  from  the  opposite  banks 
of  the  same  rill;  and  not  unfrequently  the  hands  which  had  so 
recently  before  been  dyed  in  mutual  slaughter  were  extended 
and  shaken  across  the  water,  in  token  of  their  mutual  admira- 
tion of  the  valor  and  constancy  displayed  on  both  sides.”  This 
was  characteristic  of  the  true  soldier.  Let  us  make  war  in  this 
spirit,  and  not  strive  to  show  that  we  are  fighting  against  fiends 
from  the  lowest  deep  of  hell.  Let  us  conquer  by  fighting;  or, 
if  we  lose  the  victory,  let  us  not  lose  our  manhood. 

It  were  no  great  loss  if  we  should  get  rid  of  the  magnilo- 
quent tone  of  some  of  our  dispatches.  What  is  the  use  of 
talking  about  “countless  hosts,”  “regal  array,”  and  all  those 
other  things  that  belong  to  tales  of  genii  and  giants  sixty  feet 
high,  more  or  less?  Twenty  or  thirty  thousand  men  do  not 
form  a “countless  host”  among  nations  who  have  even  a mod- 
erate faith  in  arithmetic,  and  a “regal  array”  is  supposed  to 
include  something  more  than  a few  epaulets.  Why  then  should 
we  resort  to  these  high-sounding  phrases?  What  is  the  use  of 
saying  that  at  every  step  we  feel  our  advanced  head  knock 
out  a star  in  heaven?  The  probability  is  that  people  will  not 
believe  us.  Bombastes  Furioso  and  Captain  Bobadil  are  not 
models  for  gentlemen  soldiers.  A French  officer  in  Lever’s 


* Prince  de  Ligne,  giving  an  account  of  a visit  of  his  to  Frederick  the  Great, 
reports  himself  as  saying:  “Apropos  of  M.  de  Voghera,  is  your  Majesty  aware  of  a 
little  thing  he  did  before  charging?  He  is  a boiling,  restless,  ever -eager  kind  of 
man,  and  has  something  of  the  good  old  chivalry  style.  Seeing  that  his  regiment 
would  not  arrive  quick  enough,  he  galloped  ahead  of  it;  and  coming  up  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  Prussian  regiment  of  cavalry  which  he  meant  to  attack,  he  saluted 
him  as  on  parade;  the  other  returned  the  salute;  and  then,  Have  at  each  other  like 
madmen.”  To  which  Frederick  replies,  “A  very  good  style  it  is ! I should  like  to 
know  that  man  ; I would  thank  him  for  it.” — Carlyle's  Life  of  Frederick  the  Second , 
VI.  506. 


CIVILIZED  WARFARE. 


197 


“ Maurice  Tiernay”  gives  Tiernay  the  skeleton  of  a report 
which  he  is  to  fill  up.  In  this  skeleton  the  word  “bom”  fre- 
quently occurs,  and  Tiernay  does  not  understand  it.  “As  to 
the  mysterious  monosyllable,”  says  the  officer,  “it  is  nothing 
more  than  an  abbreviation  for  ‘bombast/  which  is  always  to  be 
done  to  the  taste  of  each  particular  commanding  officer.”  The 
following  is  a specimen  of  the  skeleton  report:  “First  gun  cap- 
tured— bom;  bayonet  charge — -bom,  bom;  three  guns  taken — 
bom,  bom,  bom.”  Did  some  of  the  officers  in  the  present  war 
ever  serve  under  this  Frenchman? 

Nearly  allied  to  this  “bom”  is  the  free  use  which  is  made  of 
the  name  of  God  in  military  dispatches  and  in  proclamations. 
This  thing  is  too  often  done  merely  for  effect;  and  it  is  a kind 
of  blasphemy.  A commander  gains  a battle,  and  to  round  off 
his  report  and  make  it  sonorous  he  intersperses  it  with  the 
name  of  the  Deity.  Marlborough,  in  one  of  his  dispatches, 
says:  “Our  success  is,  in  a great  measure,  owing  to  the  particular 
blessing  of  God  and  the  unparalleled  bravery  of  your  troops.” 
The  awkward  way  in  which  he  drags  in  the  name  of  God 
shows  that  he  did  not  feel  what  he  said.  Wellington’s  good 
sense  and  good  taste  made  him  avoid  all  such  language. 

The  noble  spirit  of  Brutus  should  animate  every  soldier: 

Let  us  be  sacrificers,  but  not  butchers,  Caius. 

We  all  stand  up  against  the  spirit  of  Caesar, 

And  in  the  spirit  of  men  there  is  no  blood. 

O that  we  then  could  come  by  Caesar’s  spirit, 

And  not  dismember  Caesar  ! But,  alas ! 

Caesar  must  bleed  for  it ! And,  gentle  friends, 

Let ’s  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathfully. 


[FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  SCHILLER.] 


LONGING. 


FROM  this  valley  low  and  dreary, 

By  the  chilling  mists  oppressed, 

Could  I but  a way  discover, 

How  supremely  were  I blessed! 

There  I see  the  sunny  hillsides, 

Ever  green  and  ever  gay ; 

O!  if  I were  blessed  with  pinions, 

To  the  hills  I ’d  soar  away ! 

Harmonies  I hear  resounding, 

Soothing  tones  of  heavenly  calm; 

And  the  gentle  breezes  tell  me 
Of  the  fragrance-breathing  balm. 
Golden  fruit  I see  there  glowing, 

Beckoning  ’mid  the  dark-green  leaves; 
And  those  flowers  of  their  beauty 
No  stern  winter  e’er  bereaves. 

Ah!  how  happy,  how  delightful 
In  the  eternal  sunshine  there! 

And  upon  those  lovely  summits 
O ! how  fresh  must  be  the  air ! 

But  I ’m  frightened  by  the  river 
Which  between  us  madly  raves; 

And  my  soul  is  filled  with  horror 
As  I view  its  swelling  waves! 

On  the  stream  a boat  is  rocking; 

But,  alas ! the  pilot  fails ! 

Enter  boldly  without  shrinking; 

Full  of  life  thou  ’It  find  its  sails. 

Thou  must  trust,  and  thou  must  venture 
Heaven  will  pledge  no  helping  hand; 
Nothing  but  a wonder  takes  thee 
To  the  glorious  Wonder-land. 


[ADDRESS  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  KENTUCKY  HORTICULTURAL  SOCIETY.] 


HORTICULTURE. 


THE  first  abode  built  by  the  devil  was  a palace;  while  the 
first  residence  prepared  by  God  was  a garden.  For  the 
facts  in  regard  to  the  palace  we  are  indebted  to  Milton,  who 
tells  us  that  after  some  lofty  speeches  the  fallen  angels  ran  to  a 
hill  and  digged  out  ribs  of  gold,  which  they  fashioned  to  their 
purposes,  when — 

Anon  out  of  the  earth  a fabric  huge 
Rose  like  an  exhalation,  with  the  sound 
Of  dulcet  symphonies  and  voices  sweet, 

Built  like  a temple,  where  pilasters  round 
Were  set  and  Doric  pillars  overlaid 
With  golden  architrave  ; nor  did  there  want 
Cornice  or  frieze  with  bossy  sculpture  grown : 

The  roof  was  fretted  gold  ! 

It  may  be  said  that  the  authority  of  Milton  is  not  decisive;  but 
it  is  very  certain  that  these  fallen  angels  would  not  have  made 
a garden  for  a place  in  which  to  hold  their  meetings.  Such  a 
place  would  not  have  been  in  harmony  with  the  evil  feelings 
that  filled  their  bosoms.  And  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  the 
greater  part  of  mankind  would  not  follow  the  fallen  angels  and 
make  a palace  in  preference  to  a garden,  if  it  were  as  easy  for 
them  to  do  one  thing  as  another.  If  we  were  about  to  select 
an  abode  for  two  innocent  beings,  how  few  of  us  would  not 
prefer  a splendid  palace  with  its  graceful  columns,  its  sculp- 
tured pediment,  and  its  gorgeous  chambers,  to  the  most  beau- 
tiful garden  taste  could  produce ! Man  has  fallen  from  purity 
both  of  character  and  of  taste.  The  most  pleasant  place  that 

(T99) 


200 


HORTICULTURE. 


even  Infinite  Wisdom  could  devise  was  a garden.  A garden 
was  the  place  best  calculated  to  preserve  man’s  innocence — 
the  place  best  adapted  to  the  development  of  his  powers  and 
the  improvement  of  his  heart.  The  Garden  of  Eden,  it  is  true, 
was  something  more  than  a potato -patch.  Divine  taste  was 
exercised  in  its  arrangement.  This  paradise,  or  landscape- 
garden  as  we  should  perhaps  call  it,  was,  according  to  Milton, 
who  knew  at  least  as  much  about  it  as  any  other  human  being, 

A happy  rural  seat  of  various  view ; 

Groves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and  balm, 

Others  whose  fruit,  burnished  with  golden  rind, 

Hung  amiable — Hesperian  fables  true, 

If  true,  here  only — and  of  delicious  taste. 

Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flocks 
Grazing  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed ; 

Or  palmy  hillock  or  the  flowery  lap 
Of  some  irriguous  valley  spread  her  store, 

Flowers  of  all  hue,  and  without  thorn  the  rose. 

Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 
Of  cool  recess,  o’er  which  the  mantling  vine 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant ; meanwhile  murmuring  waters  fall 
Down  the  slope  hills,  dispersed,  or  in  a lake, 

That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crowned 
Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 

This  was  a place  in  which  the  Deity  could  hold  intercourse 
with  man.  This  was  a place  which  could  invite  angels  to  make 
visits  to  him.  But  now, 

“No  more  of  talk  where  God  or  angel  guest 
With  man  as  with  his  friend  familiar  used 
To  sit  indulgent,  and  with  him  partake 
Rural  repast.” 

The  sins  of  man  have  driven  him  from  that  mode  of  life 
which  was  adapted  to  perfect  innocence  alone.  The  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  seasons  require  other  abodes.  We  must  now 
shelter  ourselves  from  the  rage  of  the  elements;  and  the  shade 
of  the  vine  and  the  fig-tree  is  no  longer  sufficient.  We  can 


HORTICULTURE. 


201 


still,  however,  do  something  to  imitate  the  lost  Eden.  .Eneas 
built  in  the  land  of  his  exile  a miniature  representation  of  his 
much-loved  Troy.  We  have  not  lost  all  our  original  brightness: 

“Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 

But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God  who  is  our  home.” 

The  light  which  once  shone  upon  us  in  Eden  has  followed  us, 
and  is  not  yet  lost  in  the  “ light  of  common  day.”  The  glory 
may  have  been  changed  into  a dream;  but  the  dream  itself  is 
splendid,  if  we  only  take  time  to  look  at  it.  We  need  only 
turn  our  eyes  from  our  cares  and  our  follies,  and  visions  of 
Eden  will  still  burst  upon  us.  When  gold  or  ambition  daz- 
zles our  sight  these  visions  disappear;  we  turn  our  backs  upon 
our  Eden  homes  and  wander  off  among  the  swamps  and  briars 
of  the  world.  But — 

“In  a season  of  calm  weather, 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 

Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
That  brought  us  hither.” 

A taste  for  gardening  is  a taste  for  the  innocence  of  Eden. 
No  one  can  devote  himself  to  horticulture  from  the  love  of  it 
without  becoming  a purer  being.  You  would  not  go  to  a man 
in  the  midst  of  a beautiful  garden  if  you  were  seeking  for  an 
accomplice  in  crime.  There  would  be  no  need  of  an  angel 
with  his  sword  to  keep  you  back,  for  you  would  seem  to  see 
an  angel  in  every  rose  warning  you  away.  The  pure  air  of  a 
beautiful  garden  is  more  efficacious  than  any  moral  essay.  The 
simple  pleasures  of  horticulture  tend  to  give  its  votaries  a dis- 
taste for  the  grosser  enjoyments  of  the  animal  nature.  Though 
the  angels  can  not  now  be  tempted  to  alight  in  the  gardens  of 
man,  yet  they  will  hover  over  them.  Old  Andrew  Marvel,  the 
incorruptible  patriot,  must  have  been  fresh  from  the  garden 
he  so  sweetly  describes  when  he  met  Lord  Danby,  whom  King 
Charles  II.  had  sent  to  bribe  him.  The  patriot  answered  the 


202 


HORTICULTURE. 


monarch’s  treasurer  by  calling  his  servant  to  witness  that  he 
had  dined  three  days  in  succession  on  a shoulder  of  mutton. 
It  is  almost  impossible  to  refrain  from  quoting  his  “ Thoughts 
in  a Garden”: 

Fair  Quiet,  have  I found  thee  here, 

And  Innocence,  thy  sister  dear  ? 

Mistaken  long,  I sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men. 

Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  below, 

Only  among  the  plants  will  grow. 

Society  is  all  but  rude 
In  this  delicious  solitude. 

No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen 
So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 

Fond  lovers,  cruel  as  their  flame, 

Cut  in  these  trees  their  mistress’  name. 

Little,  alas ! they  know  or  heed 
How  far  these  beauties  her  exceed ! 

Fair  trees ! where’er  your  barks  I wound, 

No  name  shall  but  your  own  be  found. 

What  wondrous  life  is  this  I lead ! 

Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head; 

The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine ; 

The  nectarine  and  curious  peach 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach. 

Stumbling  on  melons  as  I pass, 

Ensnared  with  flowers,  I fall  on  grass. 

Here,  at  the  fountain’s  sliding  foot, 

Or  at  some  fruit-tree’s  mossy  root, 

Casting  the  body’s  vest  aside, 

My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide ; 

Here  like  a bird  it  sits  and  sings, 

Then  whets  and  claps  its  silvery  wings, 

And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 

Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

And  after  speaking  of  a Flora’s  dial,  he  closes  by  saying, 

How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned  but  with  herbs  and  flowers ! 


HORTICULTURE. 


203 


No  wonder  that  Marvel  was  the  friend  of  Milton,  that  he 
could  dine  three  days  consecutively  on  a shoulder  of  mutton, 
refuse  a place  at  court  and  a thousand  pounds  in  hand  when 
he  was  obliged  the  next  moment  to  borrow  a guinea  from  a 
friend.  Such  incorruptibility  as  that  of  Marvel  was  indeed  a 
wonderful  thing  in  those  times;  and  no  doubt  a great  deal  of 
the  purity  of  his  character  was  derived  from  the  purity  of  his 
tastes. 

Few  pleasures  can  equal  those  of  the  cultivator  of  flowers. 
From  the  time  that  he  plants  the  seed  he  derives  enjoyment 
from  every  stage  in  the  progress  of  the  plant.  He  sees  it  open- 
ing its  way  through  the  ground,  and  he  welcomes  it  with  joy. 
He  watches  its  growth  and  feels  something  of  the  pleasure  of 
creative  power.  He  anticipates  the  joy  of  seeing  it  expand  its 
petals  and  become  “a  star  in  earth’s  firmament.”  If  one  flower 
gives  him  so  much  pleasure,  how  much  greater  is  the  joy  when 
his  garden  becomes  a star-spangled  firmament,  when  constella- 
tions and  galaxies  of  earth’s  stars  shine  upon  him!  A Pleiad 
may  be  lost  — even  a constellation  may  disappear — but  other 
stars  and  constellations  replace  them.  It  is  said  that 

“In  Eastern  lands  they  talk  in  flowers, 

And  tell  in  a garland  their  loves  and  cares ; 

Each  flower  that  blooms  in  the  garden  bowers 
On  its  leaves  a mystic  language  bears.” 

But  there  is  in  flowers  a higher  language  than  that  referred  to 
in  this  stanza — a language  which  is  understood  by  the  lover  of 
nature  in  Western  as  well  as  Eastern  lands.  To  converse  in 
this  language  the  lover  of  flowers  requires  not  the  intervention 
of  another  person.  He  converses  with  the  flowers  themselves. 
They  express  to  him  “ thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for 
tears.”  Their  language  can  not  be  translated  into  any  human 
tongue;  but  well  their  lover  understands  it.  It  is  a language 
which  they  brought  with  them  from  Eden,  and  it  tells  of  their 
other  home.  Why  is  it  that  flowers  are  so  dear  to  the  sick? 
Why  do  they  always  impart  a glow  to  the  eye  that  has  been 


204 


HORTICULTURE. 


dimmed  by  disease?  Is  it  not  because,  as  the  human  being  is 
less  and  less  under  the  influence  of  the  body  and  approaches 
more  nearly  to  the  state  of  a pure  intelligence,  the  soul  can 
more  readily  understand  the  mystic  language  of  flowers? 

Among  the  highest  enjoyments  with  which  the  Prophet  of 
Islam  promised  to  reward  his  followers  stands  the  tooba-tree,  or 
tree  of  happiness.  This  tree  is  so  large  that  the  fleetest  horse 
could  not  gallop  from  one  end  of  its  shadow  to  the  other  in  a 
hundred  years.  The  boughs,  loaded  with  dates,  grapes,  and  all 
manner  of  fruits  of  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  kinds,  extend 
to  the  couch  of  every  believer  and  bow  down  spontaneously  to 
his  hand,  inviting  him  to  pluck.  And  should  the  believer  wish 
it,  he  can  gather  from  the  boughs  any  kind  of  meat  he  chooses, 
beef,  mutton,  fish,  fowl,  roasted,  boiled,  or  fried.  If  he  wishes 
a new  dress,  the  finest  vestments  of  green  silk  will  burst  forth 
from  the  expanding  blossoms.  If  he  wishes  to  take  a ride,  he 
has  but  to  reach  a bough  and  pluck  a horse  ready  saddled  and 
bridled.  Now  some  may  consider  this  a great  fib  and  think 
worse  of  the  Prophet  for  having  told  it;  but  I confess  that  I 
am  inclined  to  respect  him  for  having  given  so  much  impor- 
tance to  a fruit-tree.  Of  course  we  all  refuse  to  swallow  the 
meat  and  the  horses  and  the  silk  dresses.  These  things  were 
grafted  on  the  tree  to  gratify  the  taste  of  his  barbarous  follow- 
ers; but  the  man  who  could  give  in  his  paradise  so  prominent 
a place  to  so  fine  a fruit-tree  was  far  elevated  above  barbarism. 

The  love  of  fruit  may  not  be  a spiritual  appetite,  but  it  is  not 
like  the  vulgar  corporeal  appetites.  The  poet  who  said  he  did 
not  like  to  see  a beautiful  lady  eating  could  have  had  no  objec- 
tion to  her  eating  fruit.  And  it  is  difficult  to  decide  which  is  the 
most  delightful,  fruit-eating  or  fruit-cultivation.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  every  one  found  it  so  difficult  to  get  the  consent  of  Pomona 
to  marry  him.  The  Satyrs  and  other  rural  deities  tried  in  vain; 
she  was  too  much  engaged  in  looking  at  her  trees  to  turn  her 
eyes  upon  any  of  them.  Vertumnus  came  wooing  her  as  a 
mower,  but  did  not  reap  the  fruits  of  his  exertions.  He  pre- 


HORTICULTURE. 


205 


sented  himself  as  an  ox-driver;  but  she  was  too  happy  in  her 
employment  to  be  drawn  away.  He  came  as  a soldier,  but 
could  not  captivate  her.  He  came  as  a fisherman,  but  caught 
nothing.  She  thought  nothing  else  could  equal  the  pleasure  of 
attending  to  her  fruit-trees;  and  she  would  never  have  listened 
to  her  wooer  if  he  had  not  taken  the  form  of  an  old  lady  and 
scared  her  into  his  measures. 

In  that  fascinating  book  of  travels,  Eothen,  is  a kind  of 
sample  of  the  conversations  that  are  carried  on  between  Euro- 
pean travelers  and  their  Eastern  hosts.  An  Englishman  is  rep- 
resented as  visiting  a Pasha  of  I-do  n’t-know-how-many  tails, 
and  engaging  in  conversation  with  the  aid  of  his  dragoman. 
The  Pasha  wishes  to  show  that  he  knows  all  about  England, 
and  is  continually  talking  about  steam : “ Whirr ! ” exclaims  he, 
“ whirr!  all  by  wheels!  Whiz!  whiz!  all  by  steam !”  The 
Englishman  becomes  tired  of  this,  and  says  to  his  dragoman, 
“Well,  tell  the  Pasha  I am  exceedingly  gratified  to  find  that  he 
entertains  such  a high  opinion  of  our  manufacturing  energy; 
but  I should  like  him  to  know,  though,  that  we  have  something 
in  England  besides  that.  These  foreigners  are  always  fancying 
that  we  have  nothing  but  ships  and  railways  and  East -India 
companies.  Do  just  tell  the  Pasha  that  our  rural  districts 
deserve  his  attention,  and  that  even  within  the  last  two  hun- 
dred years  there  has  been  an  evident  improvement  in  the  cult- 
ure of  the  turnip.”  We  are  too  apt  to  be  like  the  Pasha,  and 
to  think  there  are  no  evidences  of  well-being  but  whirring  and 
whizzing;  whereas  an  improvement  in  the  culture  even  of  the 
turnip  may  indicate  more  substantial  prosperity  than  is  shown 
by  all  the  whirring  of  wheels  and  the  whizzing  of  steam. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY* 


IF  you  turn  your  eyes  to  one  of  the  churches  of  the  feudal 
times,  you  may  see  a young  man  engaged  in  solitary  prayer. 
He  is  a candidate  for  knighthood,  and  is  now  keeping  the  vigil 
of  arms.  He  has  passed  through  the  preliminary  education, 
and  has  been  adjudged  worthy  to  have  his  name  inscribed  in 
the  rolls  of  chivalry.  He  has  come  out  of  the  bath,  the  symbol 
of  purification.  He  has  been  clothed  in  the  white  tunic,  the 
symbol  of  purity;  in  the  red  robe,  the  symbol  of  the  blood 
which  he  is  bound  to  shed  in  the  cause  of  religion;  and  in  the 
black  coat,  the  symbol  of  the  death  that  comes  to  all.  When 
he  rises  from  his  knees  his  heart  beats  high.  He  is  about  to 
become  the  defender  of  the  oppressed,  the  protector  of  the 
widow  and  the  orphan.  His  imagination  brings  before  him 
crowds  of  sufferers  imploring  his  assistance.  The  weeping 
widow  clasps  her  hands  and  prays  for  relief  against  strong- 
handed oppression,  and  he  arms  himself  for  the  combat.  He 
hears  the  cry  of  the  orphan,  and  compels  the  oppressor  to  do 
justice. 

As  he  gives  himself  up  to  these  lofty  thoughts,  the  night 
passes  away  and  morning  comes.  To  prepare  himself  thor- 
oughly for  his  holy  calling  he  continues  his  religious  exercises. 
After  confession  he  receives  the  communion  and  attends  the 
mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  He  then  listens  to  a sermon  by  the 
priest  on  the  duties  of  the  new  life  on  which  he  is  about  to 
enter.  The  priest  describes  the  glorious  career  which  is  before 
him;  warns  him  of  its  temptations;  sets  before  him  the  claims 


-•Lecture  before  the  pupils  of  the  Female  High  School,  Louisville,  Ky. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY. 


207 


of  magnanimity,  justice,  and  mercy;  urges  him  to  emulate  the 
glorious  deeds  of  his  ancestors;  to  cherish  truth,  to  scorn  the 
mean,  to  be  a pattern  of  courtesy  and  humility.  He  exhorts 
him  to  become  such  a knight  as  we  find  described  by  the 
Father  of  English  poetry: 

A knight  there  was,  and  that  a worthy  man, 

That  fro  the  time  that  he  first  began 
To  riden  out  he  loved  chivalrie, 

Trouthe  and  honor,  fredom  and  curtesie. 

Ful  worthy  was  he  in  his  lordes  werre, 

And  thereto  had-he  ridden,  none  more  ferre, 

As  wel  in  Cristendom  as  in  Hethenesse, 

And  ever  honored  for  his  worthinesse. 

And  though  that  he  was  worthy,  he  was  wise, 

And  of  his  port  as  meek  as  is  a mayde ; 

He  never  yet  no  vilanie  ne  sayde 
In  alle  his  lif  unto  no  manner  wight. 

He  was  a very  parfit  gentil  knight. 

After  the  sermon  the  young  man,  with  his  sword  suspended 
from  his  neck,  advances  to  the  priest,  who  takes  it  from  him, 
blesses  it,  and  again  puts  it  on  his  neck.  His  sword,  having 
been  thus  consecrated,  he  advances  to  a noble  knight  and 
kneels  before  him.  “ With  what  design,”  asks  the  knight,  “ do 
you  desire  to  enter  the  order?  If  it  is  in  order  to  become  rich, 
to  repose  yourself,  and  be  honored  without  doing  honor  to 
chivalry,  you  are  unworthy  of  the  order  of  knighthood  to 
which  you  aspire.”  After  the  young  man  has  promised  to 
acquit  himself  well,  the  knight  consents  to  admit  him. 

And  now  the  knights  present,  assisted  by  ladies,  proceed  to 
equip  him  with  his  spurs,  his  defensive  armor,  and  his  sword. 
The  knight  who  has  consented  to  admit  him  into  the  order 
then  advances,  gives  him  the  accolade,  which  consists  of  three 
blows  on  the  shoulder  with  the  flat  of  the  sword,  and  pro- 
nounces the  words:  “In  the  name  of  God,  St.  Michael,  and 
St.  George,  I dub  thee  knight;  be  faithful,  bold,  and  true.” 
The  new-made  knight  then  leaps  upon  his  horse,  displays,  to 


208  the  spirit  of  chivalry. 

the  admiration  of  the  spectators,  his  skill  in  managing  his  steed 
and  in  the  use  of  the  sword  and  lance.  He  is  now  ready  to  en- 
gage in  the  noble  deeds  to  which  the  laws  of  chivalry  bind  him. 

We  will  not  follow  him  in  his  career.  We  feel  that  wherever 
he  may  appear,  in  joust  or  tourney,  on  the  battle-field  or  in 
single  combat,  in  the  council  of  war  or  in  lady's  bower,  in  the 
church  or  in  the  lists,  at  home  or  abroad,  he  will  display  the 
qualities  belonging  to  the  true  knight.  In  all  circumstances  he 
will  be  brave,  magnanimous,  courteous;  always  despising  the 
false  and  the  mean;  ever  ready  to  acknowledge  the  merit  of 
his  antagonist;  ever  ready  to  grasp  his  hand  when  the  combat 
is  over;  never  feeling  tempted  to  resort  to  underhand  practices 
himself,  he  will  suspect  nothing  of  the  kind  in  others.  Even 
the  heat  of  combat  will  be  unable  to  drive  him  from  his  lofty 
courtesy,  his  high-minded  generosity.  He  will  never  insult  a 
fallen  foe.  A terror  to  evil-doers  when  duty  demands,  at  other 
times  he  will  be  “of  his  port  as  meek  as  is  a mayde."  His 
rivalry  will  be  free  from  envy  and  every  malignant  feeling. 
Rejoicing  when  others  do  well,  he  will  himself  strive  to  do 
better.  He  will  never  attempt  to  exalt  his  own  merits  by  low- 
ering those  of  others.  He  may  sometimes  fail  to  reach  his 
high  ideal,  for  he  is  human;  but  when  he  has  done  injustice  to 
any  one  he  will  hasten  to  make  as  ample  a reparation  as  pos- 
sible. False  pride  will  never  prevent  him  from  making  an 
apology  or  asking  pardon,  as  it  does  in  meaner  souls.  With 
him  the  next  best  thing  to  doing  right  will  be  asking  forgive- 
ness for  doing  wrong. 

We  will  not  seek  to  discover  the  end  of  his  life.  He  may 
die  in  a ripe  old  age,  having  “that  which  should  accompany 
old  age,  as  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends."  When 
Europe,  crying  “ It  is  the  will  of  God!"  precipitates  itself  upon 
Asia,  he  may  be  one  of  those  whose  bones  are  destined  to 
whiten  the  plains  of  Hungary;  or  he  may  be  scorched  with 
fever  under  the  burning  sun  of  Palestine.  He  may  die  under 
the  walls  of  Damascus  or  within  sight  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY. 


209 


But,  whenever  or  wherever  he  does  depart,  the  world  will  feel 
its  loss. 

“The  knights  are  dust, 

And  their  good  swords  are  rust ; 

Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust.” 

But  has  the  spirit  of  chivalry  gone  to  dust  with  the  bodies 
of  the  knights  ? We  have  read  the  eloquent  lament  of  Burke : 
“The  age  of  chivalry  is  gone.  That  of  sophisters,  economists, 
and  calculators  has  succeeded,  and  the  glory  of  Europe  is 
extinguished  forever.  Never,  never  more  shall  we  behold 
that  generous  loyalty  to  rank  and  sex,  that  proud  submission, 
that  dignified  obedience,  that  subordination  of  the  heart  which 
kept  alive,  even  in  servitude  itself,  the  spirit  of  an  exalted  free- 
dom. The  unbought  grace  of  life,  the  cheap  defense  of  nations, 
the  nurse  of  manly  sentiment  and  heroic  enterprise,  is  gone ! It 
is  gone,  that  sensibility  of  principle,  that  chastity  of  honor,  which 
felt  a stain  like  a wound,  which  inspired  courage  whilst  it  miti- 
gated ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  it  touched,  and  under 
which  vice  itself  lost  half  its  evil  by  losing  all  its  grossness.” 

A melancholy  thing,  indeed,  would  it  be  if  the  soul  of  chiv- 
alry were  gone.  But  it  is  not  gone.  The  external  form,  the 
body,  is  gone;  but  the  spirit  lives,  and  has  ever  lived.  Histo- 
rians have  labored  to  discover  the  time  at  which  chivalry  came 
into  existence,  but  to  little  purpose.  All  that  constituted  the 
excellence  of  chivalry — its  soul — has  existed  wherever  man  has 
retained  a memory  of  the  lost  Eden.  Living  a deathless  life, 
it  is  seen  now  in  one  form,  now  in  another.  In  what  is  called 
“the  age  of  chivalry’’  it  girded  on  the  sword,  because  in  those 
days  the  sword  was  the  instrument  with  which  wrongs  were 
redressed.  We  are  too  apt  to  think  that  the  carrying  of  arms 
was  of  the  essence  of  chivalry.  But  so  far  is  this  from  being 
true,  that  in  our  own  day  those  who  load  themselves  with  arms 
are  generally  destitute  of  every  principle  of  chivalry.  A mere 
readiness  to  fight  does  not  raise  man  above  the  wild  beast. 
In  mere  animal  courage  man  is  surpassed  by  the  bulldog  and 

18 


210 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY. 


the  tiger.  It  is  the  spirit  with  which  he  is  animated  that  makes 
the  hero;  and  this  spirit  may  be  shown  where  not  a weapon  is 
to  be  seen  as  well  as  in  the  midst  of  arms.  Howard  was  ani- 
mated with  the  spirit  of  chivalry,  but  he  did  not  go  through  the 
prisons  of  Europe  with  the  sword  and  lance.  The  hero  of  the 
immortal  work  of  Cervantes  possessed  all  the  highest  qualities 
of  chivalry.  He  was  brave,  generous,  magnanimous,  truthful; 
and  we  feel  almost  conscience-smitten  when  we  laugh  at  him. 
What  is  it  that  makes  Don  Quixote  ridiculous  ? He  is  laughed 
at  because  of  the  incongruity  between  his  lofty  principles  and 
the  means  which  he  employed  to  carry  them  out;  because  he 
resorted  to  arms  in  a state  of  things  with  which  arms  were  not 
consistent;  because  he  attempted  to  force  the  spirit  of  chivalry 
into  a dead  body. 

The  memory  of  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  the  knight  sans  peur 
et  sans  reproche , who  has  been  called  “a  real  type  of  the  ideal 
knight-errant  of  romance,’’  is  honored  not  so  much  because  he 
was  without  fear  as  because  he  was  without  reproach.  “ His 
words  were  bonds;  his  oaths  were  oracles.”  His  generosity 
caused  him  to  be  almost  adored,  even  by  his  enemies.  In  the 
fatal  retreat  through  the  Yal  d’ Aosta  his  spine  was  shattered  by 
a stone  from  an  arquebuse.  “Jesu>  my  God!”  he  exclaimed, 
“ I am  a dead  man ! ” Then  commanding  that  he  should  be 
placed  in  sitting  posture,  with  his  back  against  a tree  and  his 
face  to  his  foes,  he  had  the  cross-hilt  of  his  sword  held  up 
before  him  as  a crucifix,  “ confessed  his  sins  to  his  squire,  sent 
his  adieux  to  his  king  and  his  country,  and  died  in  the  midst 
of  weeping  friends  and  admiring  enemies.”  His  magnanimity 
produced  magnanimity  in  his  foes,  who  embalmed  his  body, 
and,  unsolicited,  returned  it  to  his  country. 

In  September,  1585,  a small  body  of  English  troops  in  the 
Netherlands  was  encountered  by  a large  force  of  Spaniards 
near  Zutphen;  and  a desperate  battle  ensued,  in  which  the 
Spaniards  were  defeated.  But  the  English  met  with  a loss  far 
greater  than  the  loss  which  had  fallen  upon  their  foes.  Among 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY. 


21 1 


the  mortally  wounded  was  one  who  had  been  called  by  his  sov- 
ereign “the  jewel  of  her  times/’  He  was  distinguished  for  his 
skill  in  the  manly  exercises  and  still  more  distinguished  for  the 
accomplishments  of  his  mind.  He  was  a poet,  a general,  and 
a statesman.  He  had  written  the  “Arcadia”  and  the  “Defense 
of  Poesie.”  Though  loving  the  quiet  of  a literary  life,  he  could 
not  remain  in  retirement  when  injustice  was  to  be  repelled  or 
his  country  was  to  be  served.  His  lofty  soul  was  incapable  of 
taking  what  he  considered  a mean  advantage.  On  this  occa- 
sion he  had  seen  the  Spanish  commander  going  into  battle 
lightly  armed,  and  with  a spirit  of  chivalry  that  some  may  call 
too  refined  he  determined  to  imitate  his  example.  The  death 
wound  was  the  result.  Those  of  you  who  are  at  all  acquainted 
with  history  or  literature  have  recognized  in  the  dying  warrior 
the  noble,  the  magnanimous,  the  frank,  the  amiable,  the  accom- 
plished and  modest  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  On  many  occasions  he 
had  displayed  the  highest  attributes  of  chivalry;  but  on  no 
occasion  had  he  shown  the  spirit  brighter  than  in  this  closing 
scene  of  his  chivalrous  life.  The  blood  was  flowing  from  him 
in  streams.  Tormented  with  violent  thirst  he  called  for  drink. 
As  the  drink  was  presented  to  him  he  saw  a poor,  wounded 
soldier  whom  his  comrades  were  carrying  by,  and  who  cast  a 
ghastly  look  at  the  bottle.  “ Thy  necessity  is  yet  greater  than 
mine,”  said  the  noble  Sidney,  as  he  took  the  bottle  from  his 
mouth  and  gave  it  to  the  soldier.  Here  was  the  spirit  of  chiv- 
alry! Here  was  that  grand  spirit  of  self-denial — that  generous 
devotion  to  the  welfare  of  others  which  gave  to  chivalry  its 
glory.  The  warrior  had  performed  an  act  of  daring  at  the 
beginning  of  the  battle;  this  act  he  performed  at  the  close. 
The  former  could  have  been  performed  by  thousands  of  men; 
the  latter  by  none  but  Sidney  and  those  like  Sidney.  After  a 
few  weeks  of  agony  Sidney’s  body  was  interred  in  St.  Paul’s 
Cathedral,  and  has  mouldered  into  dust;  but  the  spirit  that 
animated  him  did  not  die.  It  has  reappeared  in  every  age, 
and  lives  in  our  own  day. 


212 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY. 


Who  are  the  successors  of  the  knights  of  old?  Not  they 
who  make  themselves  conspicuous  merely  by  obeying  the  in- 
stincts of  the  animal  or  showing  insensibility  to  danger;  but 
they  who  show  the  same  frankness,  the  same  generosity,  the 
same  lofty  courtesy,  the  same  forgetfulness  of  self  and  devotion 
to  others  that  characterized  the  heroes  of  those  other  days. 
Spenser  represents  the  Knight  of  the  Red  Cross  as  destroying 
the  dragon,  which  represents  social  evil.  Whoever  attacks  this 
dragon  in  the  true  spirit  is  the  true  knight.  The  missionary 
who  exposes  his  life  for  the  salvation  of  his  fellow-men  is  a true 
knight.  John  Howard  was  a true  knight  when,  in  the  language 
of  Burke,  he  “ visited  all  Europe,  not  to  survey  the  sumptuous- 
ness of  palaces  or  the  stateliness  of  temples;  not  to  make  accu- 
rate measurements  of  the  remains  of  ancient  grandeur,  nor  to 
form  a scale  of  the  curiosities  of  modern  art;  not  to  collate 
medals  or  collect  manuscripts,  but  to  dive  into  the  depths  of 
dungeons,  to  plunge  into  the  infections  of  hospitals,  to  survey 
the  mansions  of  sorrow  and  pain,  to  take  the  gauge  and  dimen- 
sions of  misery,  depression,  and  contempt;  to  remember  the 
forgotten,  to  attend  to  the  neglected,  to  visit  the  forsaken,  and 
to  compare  and  collate  the  distresses  of  all  men  in  all  coun- 
tries.” In  the  preface  to  the  work  which  he  published  just 
before  leaving  England  for  the  last  time  he  said:  “ Should  it 
please  God  to  cut  off  my  life  in  the  prosecution  of  this  design, 
let  not  my  conduct  be  imputed  to  rashness  or  enthusiasm,  but 
to  a serious  conviction  that  I am  pursuing  the  path  of  duty.” 
The  mournful  presentiment  was  realized,  and  he  died  of  camp- 
fever,  which  he  had  contracted  from  a patient  at  Kherson,  on 
the  Black  Sea,  exhibiting  to  the  end  of  his  life  the  courage  and 
devotion  of  chivalry. 

As  the  spirit  of  chivalry  is  not  confined  to  any  age,  so  it  is 
not  limited  by  clime  or  sex.  The  sex  which  is  styled  “ gentle” 
is  not  prevented  by  its  gentleness  from  performing  deeds  that 
would  have  done  honor  to  the  noblest  knight  of  them  all. 
“The  bravest  are  the  tenderest,”  and  the  tenderest  are  the 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHIVALRY. 


213 


bravest.  As  the  noble  knight  of  Chaucer  was  “ of  his  port  as 
meek  as  is  a mayde,”  so  the  meek  maiden  may  be  as  coura- 
geous and  devoted  as  the  warlike  knight.  Poets  of  chivalry 
seem  to  have  felt  that  its  glories  should  not  be  confined  to  one 
sex,  and  they  have  their  female  knights  performing  martial 
deeds.  Tasso  had  his  Clorinda,  Ariosto  his  Bradamante,  and 
Spenser  his  Belphoebe.  But  these  creatures  of  fiction  did  not 
display  the  knightly  qualities  in  as  high  a degree  as  they  were 
displayed  by  many  a woman  in  real  life,  even  in  the  days 
when  the  career  of  arms  was  accounted  so  glorious.  Those 
feats  of  arms  are  not  so  chivalrous  as  the  deeds  of  mercy  per- 
formed by  many  a noble  woman.  In  those  days  too  were 
women  who  exposed  their  lives  in  performing  deeds  like  those 
of  the  “ Angels  of  Buena  Vista” — 

But  the  noble  Mexic  women  still  their  holy  task  pursued, 

Through  the  long  dark  night  of  sorrow,  worn  and  faint  and  lacking  food ; 
Over  weak  and  suffering  brothers  with  a tender  care  they  hung, 

And  the  dying  foemen  blessed  them  in  a strange  and  Northern  tongue. 

In  our  day  Florence  Nightingale  can  well  bear  a comparison 
with  even  Bayard  and  Sidney.  And  there  is  many  a noble 
woman  who,  though  not  so  famous,  has  as  great  a portion  of 
the  spirit  of  chivalry  as  was  exhibited  by  Florence  Nightingale; 
many  a one  who  displays  in  their  full  perfection  the  knightly 
qualities  of  courtesy,  truthfulness,  and  generosity. 

And  now,  if  you  who  have  not  yet  entered  upon  the  career 
of  active  life  admire  the  spirit  of  chivalry,  you  may  consider 
yourselves  as  the  neophytes  of  chivalry  undergoing  the  neces- 
sary training.  When  you  are  gentle,  modest,  courteous,  frank, 
truthful,  self-denying;  when  you  are  ready  to  acknowledge  the 
merits  of  others,  and  to  emulate  without  envying,  you  exhibit 
the  character  which  we  admire  in  the  knights  of  old;  and, 
though  no  knightly  sword  gives  you  the  accolade,  you  are  as 
truly  chivalrous  as  if  you  had  been  dubbed  “in  the  name  of 
God,  St.  Michael,  and  St.  George.” 


THE  BLUE  JAY* 


Jay!  jay!  jay!  jay!. 

In  the  name  of  wonder  what  is  to  pay! 

Are  all  the  birds  engaged  in  a fray? 

No,  it  is  only  the  old  blue  jay. 

Jayd  jay!  you  old  blue  jay! 

Your  noise  is  as  bad  as  a donkey’s  bray. 

Jay!  jay!  jay!  jay! 

You  flutter  and  perk  in  your  proud  array, 
Your  blue  and  white  and  your  top-knot  gay, 
And  think  you  make  a grand  display. 
Display  ! display ! you  old  blue  jay  ! 

That  you  are  a dandy  all  must  say! 

Jay!  jay!  jay!  jay! 

You  have  always  had  a very  bad  way 
Of  eating  the  eggs  which  other  birds  lay, 
And  even  making  their  young  a prey. 

Prey!  prey!  you  old  blue  jay! 

That  you  are  a thief  you  can  not  gainsay. 

Jay!  jay!  jay!  jay! 

Take  yourself  off"  as  soon  as  you  may! 

The  birds  regard  it  as  not  fair  play 
To  take  their  eggs  and  their  young  away. 
Away!  away!  you  old  blue  jay! 

It  will  not  be  pleasant  for  you  to  stay. 


* Written  for  some  children. 


(214) 


BRIDAL  SONG  OF  MAIDENS  OF  LA  VENDEE. 


[At  marriages  the  bridesmaids  present  the  bride  with  a distaff  and 
spindle,  to  remind  her  of  her  domestic  duties,  and  with  a branch  of 
thorn  ornamented  with  ribbons  and  fruit  or  sweetmeats,  emblematical  of 
the  sorrows  as  well  as  the  pleasures  of  the  state  which  she  is  about  to 
enter:  at  the  same  time  a marriage-song  is  sung;  its  tenor  is  that  the 
season  of  joy  and  thoughtlessness  is  past,  that  the  morning  of  life  is  gone 
by,  that  the  noon  is  full  of  cares,  and  that  as  the  day  advances  we  must 
prepare  for  trouble  and  grief — a mournful  but  wholesome  lesson,  which 
is  seldom  heard  without  tears.  — Quarterly  Review .] 

DEAREST  sister,  thou  must  leave  us! 

Bid  thy  maiden  joys  farewell! 

That  this  hour  to  us  is  grievous 
These  our  swelling  tears  must  tell. 

Back  upon  thy  girlhood  pleasures, 

When  life’s  burden  on  thee  weighs, 

As  a miser  on  his  treasures 
Wilt  thou  look  in  other  days. 

On  the  shaded  grass  reclining, 

With  the  broad  oak  overhead, 

Loving  arms  around  thee  twining — 

How  the  sunny  hours  have  sped! 

To  the  laughing  streamlet  rushing, 

With  its  waters  did  we  toy, 

And  our  heart-born  song  out-gushing 
Filled  the  woodland  with  our  joy. 

Then  the  gladsome  hours  flew  o’er  thee 
Like  the  glories  of  a dream, 

Every  thing  that  lay  before  thee 
Glowing  in  a rosy  gleam. 


216  bridal  song  of  maidens  of  la  vendee. 

Then  did  not  December’s  sorrow 
Blast  the  flowers  of  thy  May, 

Nor  the  darkness  of  to-morrow 
Gloom  the  sunshine  of  to-day. 

Take  these  symbols  of  the  labor 
That  must  fill  thy  future  life, 

As  the  warrior  takes  the  sabre, 

Emblem  of  the  coming  strife. 

Like  these  ribbons  gayly  streaming 
Seems  thy  future  life  to  thee; 

But  beneath  this  gallant  seeming 
Hide  the  thorns  thou  dost  not  see. 

Soon  the  splendors  of  the  morning 
Fade  before  the  heat  of  noon; 

And  the  evening’s  twilight  warning 
Gathers  o’er  thy  pathway  soon. 

Soon  the  gloomy  night  descending 
Shall  its  horrors  o’er  thee  roll, 

Then  may  daylight  never-ending 
Break  in  glory  on  thy  soul. 


“GLORIOUS  VICTORY.” 


HOW  often  do  we  see  these  words  placed  at  the  head  of 
accounts  of  bloody  battles  in  which  thousands  were 
killed  and  wounded  and  whole  cities  ruined!  The  reception 
of  the  news  of  the  victory  is  followed  by  joyful  shouts  and 
the  firing  of  cannon.  It  is  well  to  guard  against  being  carried 
away  by  a one-sided  view  of  things.  It  is  sometimes  good  to 
have  a skeleton  at  the  feast. 

The  lofty  self-devotion  of  some  who  have  exposed  their 
lives  from  pure  love  of  country  has  made  their  memories  dear 
to  mankind;  but  no  one  with  feelings  above  the  feelings  of  the 
savage  will  ever  think  of  fighting  for  “ glory. ” The  true-hearted 
man  will  regret  the  necessity  that  drives  him  to  shed  the  blood 
of  his  fellow-men,  as  the  benevolent  officer  weeps  when  called 
to  execute  the  stern  sentence  of  the  law.  The  time  will  come 
when  men  will  look  back  and  wonder  how  it  was  possible  for 
human  beings  to  seek  for  glory  in  butchering  one  another. 
They  will  look  on  this  as  we  now  look  on  the  custom  of 
offering  human  sacrifices.  The  one  thing  is  as  barbarous  as 
the  other.  The  savage  makes  him  an  idol  of  wood  or  stone 
and  sacrifices  his  enemies  to  it;  the  civilized  man  makes  an 
idol  of  Glory  and  sacrifices  his  fellow-man  to  her.  “ Moloch, 
horrid  king!”  was  not  more  “ besmeared  with  blood”  than 
Glory  has  been. 

In  the  sacrifices  to  Moloch  the  cries  of  the  victims  were 
drowned  by  “ the  noise  of  drums  and  timbrels  loud;”  those 
who  sacrifice  to  Glory  have  devised  many  plans  for  drowning 
the  cries  of  bereaved  fathers  and  mothers,  the  shrieks  of  the 
widow  and  the  orphan;  and  too  often  the  shouts  of  “ Glory” 

19  (217) 


2lS 


GLORIOUS  VICTORY. 


« 


)y 


have  risen  above  every  other  sound.  Suppose  that  on  the  eve 
of  a battle  for  “ glory  ” all  who  are  to  be  affected  by  it  should 
be  collected  on  the  field.  In  the  sight  of  those  who  are  about 
to  shed  each  others’  blood  for  “ glory”  are  the  fathers  and 
mothers,  the  brothers  and  sisters,  the  wives  and  children,  the 
friends  and  loved  ones,  whose  lives  are  to  be  rendered  wretched 
by  the  conflict.  If  after  the  firing  of  a volley  all  the  woe 
it  has  caused  should  rise  in  one  scream  of  agony,  who  would 
have  the  heart  to  fire  again  ? Ah ! it  must  be  a great  cause  that 
requires  the  slaying  of  our  brothers.  The  patriot  warrior  should 
be  as  pure  in  heart  as  are  the  angels  that  surround  the  throne 
of  God. 

He  that  makes  widows  and  orphans  for  mere  military  fame 
should  have,  not  the  eagle,  but  the  carrion  vulture  painted  on 
his  banner.  If  a material  form  were  to  be  selected  for  the 
glory  which  mere  military  heroes  worship,  the  most  horrid 
images  that  have  ever  visited  the  dreams  of  the  sick  would  be 
too  tame  for  the  purpose.  The  Grecian  artist  selected  the  most 
lovely  features  from  the  most  lovely  women  to  form  his  master- 
piece; the  most  horrible  features  from  all  that  is  hateful  and 
disgusting  should  be  blended  together  in  one  appalling  picture 
to  represent  Glory.  Her  car  should  be  drawn  by  jackals  and 
hyenas  over  a road  paved  with  human  hearts.  Her  seat  should 
be  formed  of  the  coils  of  the  most  loathsome  and  deadly  ser- 
pents. The  most  disgusting  birds  of  prey  should  flap  their 
wings  around  her  head.  The  blood  of  those  whom  she  is 
devouring  should  gush  from  her  mouth  and  stream  down  her 
breast,  and  all  around  her  should  be  masses  of  black  and  putre- 
fying  gore.  The  only  light  that  attempts  to  pierce  the  thick 
gloom  that  surrounds  her  should  be  the  red  glare  from  burning 
cities. 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


RD  CAMPBELL  and  others  have  attempted  to  show  that 


Shakespeare  before  he  went  to  London  passed  his  time 
in  a lawyer’s  office.  We  intend  to  prove  from  his  knowledge 
of  agricultural  and  horticultural  matters  that  in  his  early  life  he 
was  engaged  in  rural  pursuits,  and  consequently  had  no  time  to 
devote  to  the  study  of  the  law.  This  will  be  in  effect  to  prove 
an  alibi;  and  we  hope  our  correct  application  of  this  term  may 
induce  Lord  Campbell,  in  the  next  edition  of  his  work,  to  do 
justice  to  our  legal  acquirements. 

We  suppose  that  Shakespeare  had  not  only  a farm,  but  a 
garden  and  a vineyard  connected  with  it — 

“A  garden  circummured  with  brick, 

Whose  western  side  was  with  a vineyard  backed.  ” 

Whether  he  held  this  property  in  fee  simple,  or  had  only  a 
life-estate,  or  a copy-hold,  or  merely  “ farmed  it,”  we  can  not 
determine.  From  the  way  in  which  he  refers  to  the  modes  of 
barring  entails  by  fines  and  recoveries,  we  suspect  the  property 
was  in  some  way  entailed,  that  he  was  engaged  in  a lawsuit 
about  it,  that  at  the  close  of  the  suit,  however  it  may  have  been 
determined,  there  was  no  remainder  to  him  either  of  real  or 
personal  property,  and  that  he  then  went  upon  the  stage.  But 
these  are  merely  conjectures;  let  us  proceed  to  our  well-known 
facts. 

The  great  dramatist  shows  in  all  his  writings  so  accurate  a 
knowledge  of  agricultural  processes  and  productions,  of  the 
various  kinds  of  “live  stock”  and  the  proper  management 
thereof,  of  flowers  and  fruits,  of  rural  games  and  pastimes, 


(219) 


220 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


and  the  various  adjuncts  of  country  life,  that  he  who  after  an 
investigation  of  the  matter  is  not  convinced  that  Shakespeare 
was  a farmer  should  himself  “keep  a farm  and  carters7’  till  he 
learns  something. 

Our  farmer  knew  where  good  husbandry  should  begin,  being 
well  acquainted  with  the  value  of  manure: 

The  cold  blood  he  did  naturally  inherit  from  his  father  he  hath,  like 
lean,  sterile,  and  bare  land,  manured,  husbanded,  and  tilled. — 2 Hen.  IV. 

Compost  was  familiar  to  him : 

And  do  not  spread  the  compost  on  the  weeds, 

To  make  them  ranker. — Hamlet. 

He  was  aware  of  the  importance  of  good  seed: 

If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 

And  say  which  grains  will  grow,  and  which  will  not. — Macbeth. 

Sowed  cockle,  reaped  no  corn. — Love's  Labor's  Lost. 

After  the  ground  has  been  prepared,  the  seed  sown,  and  the 
plant  “full  of  growing,”  how  our  husbandman  enjoys  the  prospect! 

How  lush  and  lusty  the  grass  looks!  how  green! — Tempest . 

Your  tongue’s  sweet  air 
More  tunable  than  lark  to  shepherd’s  ear 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthorn  buds  appear. 

[Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

It  will  be  observed  that  in  this  passage  Shakespeare  shows 
himself  to  have  been  as  familiar  with  the  song  of  the  lark  and 
the  blossom  of  the  hawthorn  as  was  the  plowman  Burns.  How 
could  he  have  been  so  accurate  if  he  had  not  followed  the 
plow  like  Burns? 

We  shall  see  what  thorough  knowledge  he  has  of  the  process 
of  growth,  and  of  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered : 

He  can  not  so  precisely  weed  this  land, 

As  his  misdoubts  present  occasion : 

His  foes  are  so  enrooted  with  his  friends, 

That,  plucking  to  unfix  an  enemy, 

He  doth  unfasten  so  and  shake  a friend. — 2 Henry  IV. 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


221 


Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds. — lb. 

He ’s  a rank  weed,  Sir  Thomas, 

And  we  must  root  him  out. — Henry  VIII. 

Sweet  flowers  are  slow,  and  weeds  make  haste. — Richard  III. 

Biron  is  like  an  envious  sneaping  frost, 

That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  spring. 

{Love's  Labor's  Lost. 

He  weeds  the  corn  and  still  lets  grow  the  weeding. — lb. 

Her  foes  shake  like  a field  of  beaten  corn, 

And  hang  their  heads  with  sorrow. — Henry  VIII. 

Though  bladed  corn  be  lodged,  and  trees  blown  down  .-Macbeth. 

These  tidings  nip  me,  and  I hang  the  head, 

As  flowers  with  frost,  or  grass  beat  down  with  storms. 

[ Titus  Andronicus. 

Grief  and  patience,  rooted  in  him  both, 

Mingle  their  spurs  together.  Grow,  patience! 

And  let  the  stinking  elder,  grief,  untwine 

His  perishing  root  with  the  increasing  vine. — Cymbeline. 

Shakespeare,  it  is  evident,  never  lost  his  crop  from  being 
ignorant  of  the  injurious  effects  of  weeds.  But  he  sometimes 
suffered  from  unfavorable  seasons.  How  could  he  have  given 
this  description  if  he  had  not  seen  and  felt  the  disastrous  effects 
of  such  a season  ? 

Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain, 

As  in  revenge,  have  sucked  up  from  the  sea 
Contagious  fogs ; which,  falling  in  the  land, 

Have  every  pelting  river  made  so  proud 
That  they  have  overborne  their  continents. 

The  ox  hath  therefore  stretched  his  neck  in  vain, 

The  plowman  lost  his  sweat ; and  the  green  corn 
Hath  rotted  ere  his  youth  attained  a beard ; 

The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field, 

And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrain  flock. 


And  thorough  this  distemperature  we  see 
The  seasons  alter.  Hoary-headed  frosts 
Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose; 
And  on  old  Hymns’  chin  and  icy  crown 


222 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 
Is,  as  in  mockery,  set ; the  spring,  the  summer, 

The  childing  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 
Their  wonted  liveries. — Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

How  accurate  in  every  particular  is  the  following  description 
of  neglected  land!  No  farmer  that  had  passed  his  life  at  the 
handles  of  the  plow  could  have  described  the  scene  in  a better 

manner  . ^he  husbandry  doth  lie  on  heaps, 

Corrupting  in  its  own  fertility. 

Her  vine,  the  merry  cheerer  of  the  heart, 

Unpruned  lies.  Her  hedges,  even-pleached, 

Like  prisoners  wildly  overgrown  with  hair, 

Put  forth  disordered  twigs.  Her  fallow  leas 
The  darnel,  hemlock,  and  rank  fumitory 
Doth  root  upon ; while  that  the  coulter  rusts 
That  should  deracinate  such  savagery. 

The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 
The  freckled  cowslip,  burnet,  and  green  clover, 

Wanting  the  scythe,  all  uncorrected,  rank, 

Conceives  by  idleness ; and  nothing  teems 
But  hateful  docks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burrs, 

Losing  both  beauty  and  utility. — Henry  V. 

But  the  season  having  been  favorable,  and  the  corn  ripe, 
then  comes  the  reaping.  The  references  to  this  operation  are 
numerous  and  are  all  perfectly  accurate : 

They  that  reap  must  sheaf  and  bind, 

Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. — As  You  Like  It. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this  that  those  who  reap  do  not  bind 
the  sheaves.  But  the  objectors  show  their  ignorance  of  ancient 
customs.  In  Shakespeare’s  time,  and  even  later,  the  reaper, 
after  having  cut  to  the  end  of  the  field  returned  the  same  way, 
binding  what  he  had  cut : 

O,  let  me  teach  you  how  to  knit  again 

This  scattered  corn  into  one  mutual  sheaf. — Titus  Andronicus. 

We  have  no  doubt  that  Shakespeare  could  have  given 
instruction  in  this  art  to  many  a modern  farmer. 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


223 


The  harvest  is  reaped,  bound,  and  carted;  the  “ stubble-land 
at  harvest-home”  shows  like  the  new-reaped  chin  of  Hotspur’s 
courtier,  and  now  comes  the  feast  of  harvest-home,  with  its 
dancing  and  merriment: 

You  sun-burned  sicklemen;  of  August  weary, 

Come  hither  from  the  furrow  and  be  merry ; 

Make  holiday  ; your  rye-straw  hats  put  on, 

And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  country  footing. — Tempest. 

We  will  introduce  two  quotations  referring  to  the  last  opera- 
tion, the  winnowing  of  the  grain.  It  must  be  kept  in  mind 
that  Shakespeare  had  no  wheat-fan,  but,  in  the  language  of 
Mause  Headrigg,  “ waited  for  any  dispensation  of  wind  that 
Providence  might  please  to  send  on  the  shealing-hill  ” : 

We  shall  be  winnowed  with  so  rough  a wind 
That  even  our  corn  shall  seem  as  light  as  chaff, 

And  good  from  bad  find  no  partition. — 2 Henry  IV. 

I humbly  thank  your  highness, 

And  am  right  glad  to  catch  this  good  occasion 
Most  thoroughly  to  be  winnowed,  where  my  chaff 
And  corn  shall  fly  asunder. — Henry  VIII. 

We  could  bring  forward  any  number  of  quotations  going  to 
show  that  Shakespeare  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  the 
processes  of  farming,  and  therefore  must  have  been  a farmer. 
We  will  give  a few  extracts  showing  his  knowledge  of  other 
products  of  the  farm  than  those  mentioned  already : 

We  ’ll  use  this  unwholesome  humidity,  this  gross  watery  pompion. — 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

Bowled  to  death  with  turnips. — lb. 

Let  the  sky  rain  potatoes. — lb . 

This  reference  to  potatoes  is  remarkable  on  account  of  the 
recency  of  the  introduction  of  that  vegetable.  It  shows  that 
our  farmer  was  ready  to  adopt  new  things. 


224 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


To  turkeys,  which,  like  potatoes,  came  from  America,  he  was 
so  accustomed  that  he  seems  to  have  regarded  them  as  having 
been  in  England  “ time  whereof  the  memory  of  man  runneth 
not  to  the  contrary/’  for  he  speaks  of  them  as  familiar  objects 
in  the  time  of  Henry  IV.,  whereas  they  did  not  appear  in 
England  till  more  than  a hundred  years  afterward. 

Shakespeare  was  well  acquainted  with  the  difference  between 
red  and  white  wheat;  but  we  have  not  been  able  to  discover 
which  he  preferred: 

Mildews  the  white  wheat. — King  Lear . 

Davy . Shall  we  sow  the  headland  with  wheat? 

Shallow . With  red  wheat,  Davy. — 2 Henry  IV. 

Here  is  the  process  of  making  bacon: 

Evans . I pray  you,  have  your  remembrance,  child : Accusativo , hung , 
hang , hog. 

Quickly.  Hang  hog  is  Latin  for  bacon,  I warrant  you. — Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor. 

Shakespeare  had  a garden  attached  to  his  farm.  His  farm 
was  the  prose,  his  garden  the  poetry  of  his  life.  When  the 
labors  of  the  farm  were  over  for  the  day,  when  he  had  unyoked 
his  oxen  and  returned  to  the  house,  he  laid  aside  his  ox-whip 
and  said  to  his  wife,  “Anne,  give  me  a drink  of  water,  and  I 
will  labor  a while  in  the  garden.”  His  good  wife  brought  him 
some  fresh  sparkling  water  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  some 
of  her  home-brewed  ale,  saying,  as  she  presented  the  latter, 
“ William,  I know  thou  art  weary  with  the  plowing,  therefore  I 
have  brought  thee  some  ale  to  refresh  thee  before  thou  goest 
into  the  garden.”  Of  which  ale  farmer  William  took  a deep 
draught,  both  because  it  was  of  his  wife’s  brewing,  and  also  be- 
cause it  was  not  unpleasant  in  itself.  He  then  proceeded  to 
his  garden. 

How  well  he  cultivated  his  garden,  and  how  thoroughly  he 
was  versed  in  the  principles  of  horticulture,  his  work  in  the  gar- 
den showed,  and  his  works  now  show.  He  was  well  acquainted 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


225 

with  the  old  proverb  of  thrift,  “A  stitch  in  time  saves  nine/'  and 
he  accordingly  rooted  out  the  weeds  while  they  were  young : 

Now  ’t  is  the  spring,  and  weeds  are  shallow-rooted; 

Suffer  them  now,  and  they  ’ll  o’ergrow  the  garden, 

And  choke  the  herbs  for  want  of  husbandry. — 2 Henry  VI. 

He  knew  the  advantage  of  having  the  soil  deep,  so  that  the 
plants  might  be  firmly  rooted.  The  following  figure  was  sug- 
gested by  the  sight  of  a garden  belonging  to  a neighbor  who 
neglected  this  important  principle: 

Some  o’  their  plants  are  ill-rooted  already ; the  least  wind  i’  the  world 
will  blow  them  down. — Anto?iy  and  Cleopatra. 

It  is  evident  that  he  watered  his  young  plants;  but  we  have 
not  been  able  to  discover  what  was  the  particular  form  of  the 
watering-pot  which  he  used.  We  infer  from  the  following  pas- 
sage that  the  holes  in  the  rose  of  the  pot  were  small,  so  that 
the  water  as  it  fell  resembled  dew : 

He  watered  his  new  plants  with  the  dews  of  flattery. — Coriolanus. 

From  his  garden  our  farmer  derived  the  most  useful  moral 
lessons.  One  of  his  neighbors  complaining  that  his  garden  did 
not  produce  so  well  as  William  Shakespeare’s  did,  and  attrib- 
uting his  want  of  success  to  the  soil,  etc.,  and  not  to  his  lack 
of  industry  and  skill,  William  was  reminded  of  those  persons 
who  attribute  their  moral  failures  to  something  out  of  them- 
selves. He  thought  of  this  neighbor  when  he  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing passage: 

Our  bodies  are  gardens,  to  which  our  wills  are  gardeners;  so  that,  if 
we  will  plant  nettles  or  sow  lettuce,  set  hyssop  and  weed  up  thyme,  sup- 
ply it  with  one  gender  of  herbs  or  distract  it  with  many;  either  to  have 
it  sterile  with  idleness  or  manured  with  industry ; why,  the  power  and 
corrigible  authority  of  this  lies  in  our  wills. — Othello. 

This  same  neighbor’s  unweeded  garden  affected  William’s 
mind  so  deeply  that  year’s  afterward  it  presented  itself  as  the 
strongest  image  of  utter  desolation: 


226 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 

Fie  on ’t ! O fie ! ’t  is  an  un weeded  garden 

That  grows  to  seed;  things  rank  and  gross  in  nature 

Possess  it  merely. — Hamlet . 

Shakespeare's  was  not  a mere  kitchen -garden  filled  with 
cabbage,  beans,  and  lettuce.  These  had  their  appropriate 
place;  but  other  parts  of  the  garden  contained  not  only  the 
richest  fruits  but  the  fairest  flowers.  How  could  he  have 
known  so  well  the  peculiarities  of  the  different  flowers  if  not 
from  actual  observation  in  his  own  garden? 

Reverend  sirs, 

For  you  there ’s  rosemary  and  rue ; these  keep 
Seeming  and  savour  all  the  winter  long. 

Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient — 

Not  yet  on  summer’s  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter — the  fairest  flowers  of  the  season 
Are  our  carnations  and  streaked  gilliflowers. 

Here ’s  flowers  for  you  : 

Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram; 

The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun 
And  with  him  rises,  weeping : these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and  I think  they  are  given 


To  men  of  middle  age. 


Daffodils, 


That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty ; violets  dim, 

But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno’s  eyes 
Or  Cytherea’s  breath  ; pale  primroses, 

That  die  unmarried  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength,  a malady 
Most  incident  to  maids;  bold  oxlips  and 
And  the  crown  imperial ; lilies  of  all  kinds, 

The  flower-de-luce  being  one. — The  Winter's  Tale . 

With  fairest  flowers, 

While  summer  lasts,  and  I live  here,  Fidele, 

I ’ll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave.  Thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower  that ’s  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose ; nor 
The  azured  harebell,  like  thy  veins  ; no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 
Qutsweetened  not  thy  breath.  — Cy?nbeline t 


SHAKESPEARE  A FARMER. 


227 

We  could  give  any  quantity  of  quotations  of  this  kind. 
What  lawyer  in  our  times  knows  when  the  different  flowers 
bloom?  “A  question  to  be  asked.” 

Our  gardener  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  operations 
of  hybridizing,  pruning,  trellising,  and  grafting : 

Go,  bind  thou  up  yond’  dangling  apricocks, 

Which,  like  unruly  children,  make  their  sire 
Stoop  with  oppression  of  their  prodigal  weight ; 

Give  some  supportance  to  the  bending  twigs. 

Go  thou,  and,  like  an  executioner, 

Cut  off  the  heads  of  too-fast  growing  sprays. — Richard  II. 

When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land, 

Is  full  of  weeds ; her  fairest  flowers  choked  up, 

Her  fruit-trees  all  unpruned,  her  hedges  ruined, 

Her  knots  disordered,  and  her  wholesome  herbs 
Swarming  with  caterpillars. — lb. 

We  at  time  of  year 

Do  wound  the  bark,  the  skin  of  our  fruit-trees, 

Lest,  being  over-proud  in  sap  and  blood, 

With  too  much  riches  it  confound  itself. — lb. 

Superfluous  branches 

We  lop  away  that  bearing  boughs  may  live. — lb . 

Perdita.  I have  heard  it  said 

There  is  an  art  which  in  their  piedness  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 

Polixenus.  Say  there  be  ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean 

But  nature  makes  that  mean ; so,  o’er  that  art 

Which  you  say  adds  to  nature  is  an  art 

That  nature  makes.  You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 

A gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock 

And  make  conceive  a bark  of  baser  kind 

By  bud  of  nobler  race.  This  is  an  art 

Which  does  mend  nature — change  it  rather ; 

But  the  art  itself  is  nature. — The  Winter's  Tale. 

O ! if  we  could  only  see  Shakespeare’s  garden  as  it  was ! 
Armida’s  enchanted  grounds  were  nothing  to  it ! Should  n’t 
we  enjoy  eating  half  a dozen  of  those  “ apricocks”?  A ques- 
tion requiring  no  immediate  answer. 


THE  BRAHMIN  AND  THE  ROGUES* 


An  ancient  Brahmin,  as  they  say, 

Had  vowed  that  on  a certain  day 
He  to  the  gods  a sheep  would  slay 
In  solemn  sacrifice. 

When  forth  to  buy  a sheep  he  went, 
Three  rogues,  who  knew  of  his  intent, 
Together  did  a plan  invent 
To  cheat  his  very  eyes. 


* Macaulay  relates  this  as  one  of  Pilpay’s  fables.  He  says:  “Thus,  or  nearly 
thus,  if  we  remember  rightly,  runs  the  story  of  the  Sanskrit  Aesop.  The  moral,  like 
the  moral  of  every  fable  that  is  worth  the  telling,  lies  on  the  surface.  The  writer 
evidently  means  to  caution  us  against  the  practices  of  puffers — a class  of  people  who 
have  more  than  once  talked  the  people  into  the  most  absurd  errors,  but  who  surely 
never  played  a more  curious  or  a more  difficult  trick  than  when  they  passed  Mr.  Rob- 
ert Montgomery  off  upon  the  world  as  a great  poet.”  Macaulay’s  memory  deceived 
him.  The  fable  is  not  Pilpay’s.  There  is  a fable  of  Pilpay’s  which,  no  doubt,  sug- 
gested Macaulay’s  fable ; but  in  Pilpay’s  fable  a sheep  is  transformed  to  a dog,  not  a 
dog  to  a sheep;  and  the  moral  is  “What  can  not  be  done  by  force  must  be  done  by 
policy.”  This  is  Pilpay’s  fable  : 

“A  dervise  had  once  made  a purchase  of  a fine  fat  sheep,  with  intent  to  offer  it 
up  in  sacrifice;  and  having  tied  a cord  about  its  neck,  he  was  leading  it  to  his  habita- 
tion. But  as  he  led  it  along  four  thieves  perceived  him  and  determined  to  steal  his 
sacrifice  for  less  holy  uses.  They  dared  not,  however,  take  it  away  from  the  dervise 
by  force,  because  they  were  too  near  the  city ; therefore  they  made  use  of  this  strat- 
agem: they  first  parted  company,  and  then  accosted  the  dervise  (whom  they  knew 
to  be  an  honest  and  inoffensive  man,  who  thought  of  no  more  harm  in  others  than  he 
had  in  himself)  as  if  they  had  come  from  several  different  parts.  Said  the  first  of 
them  who  had  contrived  to  come  up  directly  in  front  of  him,  ‘Father,  whither  are 
you  leading  this  dog?’  At  this  instant  the  second  came  up  from  another  direction 
and  cried  out,  ‘Venerable  old  gentleman,  I hope  you  have  not  so  far  forgotten  your- 
self as  to  steal  this  dog.’  Immediately  the  third  came  up  and  said,  * Whither  will  you 
go  a-coursing  with  that  handsome  dog?’  The  poor  dervise  began  to  be  lost  in  doubt, 
when  the  fourth  thief  came  up  and  asked,  ‘ Pray,  reverend  father,  what  did  this  dog 
cost  you  ? ’ The  dervise,  convinced  that  four  men  coming  from  four  several  places 
could  not  all  be  deceived,  verily  believed  that  the  grazier  who  had  sold  him  the 
sheep  was  a conjurer,  who  had  bewitched  his  sight  and  made  him  take  a dog  for  a 
sheep.  He  went  back  to  the  grazier  to  demand  his  money,  leaving  the  sheep  with 
the  thieves.” 

Some  peculiar  circumstances  induced  the  “present  writer”  to  versify  Macau- 
lay’s fable. 


THE  BRAHMIN  AND  THE  ROGUES. 


The  first  rogue  cunningly  drew  nigh 
And  said,  “O  Brahmin,  wilt  thou  buy 
A sheep  to-day?  I have  one  here 
That  on  the  earth  has  not  its  peer.” 

“O!  yes,”  the  holy  man  replies; 

“I  want  a sheep  for  sacrifice. 

To  buy  one  came  I forth  to-day : 

So  let  me  see  thy  sheep,  I pray.” 

The  rogue  complied, 

His  bag  untied — 

The  pious  man  stood  horrified! 

For  out  there  came 
A dog  diseased  and  blind  and  lame. 

“O  wretch  polluted  by  things  unclean!” 

Exclaims  the  Brahmin,  “what  dost  thou  mean 
By  calling  that  horrible  dog  a sheep ! ” 

“A  dog!  O Brahmin,  art  thou  asleep! 

Callest  thou  this  a thing  unclean — 

A sheep  as  lovely  as  ever  was  seen, 

Of  the  finest  fleece,  and  of  flesh  so  sweet 
That  the  gods  must  esteem  it  an  offering  meet!” 

“Friend,”  said  the  Brahmin,  “art  thou  out  of  thy  mind 
A loss  must  have  happened  to  one  of  us  two. 

If  thou  takest  that  beast  to  be  either  a ewe 
Or  ram 
Or  lamb — 

If  thou  art  not  totally  blind, 

I am.” 

Just  then  approached  the  second  rogue, 

Exclaiming  as  he  viewed  the  dog, 

“A  thousand  thanks  to  the  gods  I owe! 

I need  not  to  the  market  go ; 

My  wishes  are  crowned ; 

For  here  I have  found 
A sheep  that ’s  unequaled  above  the  ground ! 

For  what  wilt  thou  sell  it? 

The  price  now — pray  tell  it!” 

The  Brahmin’s  mind  waved  to  and  fro, 

Now  here,  now  there, 

As  in  the  air 
The  swingers  go. 


230 


THE  BRAHMIN  AND  THE  ROGUES. 


“Friend,”  said  he,  “thou  dost  surely  err; 
This  is  no  sheep,  but  an  unclean  cur.” 

“Cur!”  cried  the  rogue,  as  back  he  shrunk, 
“O  Brahmin,  art  thou  mad  or  drunk?” 

The  third  confederate  drew  near. 

“Come,  let  us  ask  this  stranger  here,” 

The  Brahmin  said;  “let  him  decide; 

By  what  he  says  I will  abide.” 

“Agreed!  agreed!”  the  rogues  replied. 

“Stranger,”  said  the  ’wildered  priest, 

“Pray  tell  us  what  thou  call’st  this  beast.” 

“What  do  I call  it!  A sheep  of  course.” 
The  Brahmin  bowed  his  head, 

And  sighing  said 
In  accents  hoarse, 

“To  punish  me  for  my  offenses, 

The  gods  have  taken  away  my  senses.” 

Then,  turning  to  the  crafty  knave, 

Most  humbly  did  his  pardon  crave. 

He  paid  for  the  dog  a monstrous  price, 

A pot  of  ghee  and  measures  of  rice; 

And  taking  it  home  as  a precious  prize, 
Offered  it  up  in  sacrifice; 

By  which  the  gods  he  did  displease, 

Who  smote  him  with  a sore  disease. 


DEFENSE  OF  GENERAL  HULL* 


UR  readers  may  imagine  a company  of  men  undertaking 


to  establish  a magnetic  telegraph  line,  and  in  their  eager- 
ness to  put  it  in  operation  forgetting  many  necessary  matters. 
At  one  end  they  have  forgotten  to  provide  a battery ; in  another 
place  they  have  failed  to  make  a connection  between  the  wires. 
In  great  haste  they  attempt  to  send  a message,  and  it  will  not 
go.  The  public  is  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation.  Murmurs 
begin  to  float  around  the  ears  of  the  company.  The  members 
begin  to  look  aghast  at  each  other.  Mobs  and  various  other 
disagreeable  things  rise  before  their  imaginations.  A tremen- 
dous note  of  preparation  had  been  sounded,  and  it  is  now 
echoed  back  broken  up  into  hisses  and  curses.  Something 
must  be  done;  what  shall  it  be?  Very  opportunely  one  pre- 
sents himself  who  is  willing  to  declare  that  the  failure  was 
caused  by  the  individual  who  had  no  battery — that,  in  fact,  he 
had  a very  powerful  battery  and  plenty  of  material  to  keep  it 
in  activity.  Here  a way  of  deliverance  presents  itself.  The 
poor  man  is  made  a scapegoat,  and  they  are  redeemed. 

This  is  an  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  General  Hull  was 
treated.  The  administration  plunged  into  a war  without  the 
necessary  preparation.  The  whole  country  was  made  to  believe 
that  the  conquest  of  Canada  was  a matter  that  did  not  present 
the  slightest  difficulty;  that  at  the  first  gleam  of  an  American 
sword  the  British  forces  would  disappear.  Preparation,  cooper- 
ation, and  other  things  which  hitherto  had  been  considered  of 
some  importance  in  military  movements,  were  supposed  to  be 

*Life  of  General  Hull,  by  his  grandson,  James  Freeman  Clarke. 


232  DEFENSE  OF  GENERAL  HULL. 

entirely  superfluous  matters.  The  country  was  not  prepared 
for  the  news  of  a failure;  and  when  the  news  did  come,  our 
people  were  ready  to  attribute  the  failure  to  the  first  crime 
which  should  happen  to  be  mentioned.  One  man  mentions 
cowardice : “ O yes,  it  was  cowardice ! 77  all  are  ready  to  cry  out. 
The  word  treachery  happens  to  find  its  way  to  another7 s tongue. 
“ Certainly,  it  was  treachery.77  A third  succeeds  in  bringing 
out  both  cowardice  and  treachery  in  the  same  breath.  “To  be 
sure,  it  was  cowardice  and  treachery;  no  doubt  of  it.77 

In  February,  1812,  William  Hull,  then  Governor  of  Michi- 
gan, was  in  Washington  City.  Accounts  reached  him  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  territory  were  in  fear  of  hostile  attacks  from 
the  Indians.  He  urged  upon  the  administration  the  necessity 
of  providing  means  of  defense.  The  President  called  upon 
the  Governor  of  Ohio  to  detach  twelve  hundred  militia  and 
prepare  them  for  actual  service.  This  force  was  to  be  joined 
by  the  Fourth  United  States  Regiment,  then  at  Post  St.  Vin- 
cennes. The  Secretary  of  War  stated  to  Governor  Hull  that 
the  President  wished  him  to  take  the  command  of  these  troops 
with  the  rank  of  brigadier -general.  Governor  Hull  declined 
the  appointment  in  the  most  unqualified  manner.  Colonel 
Kingsbury  was  then  ordered  to  take  the  command.  He  fell 
sick  and  was  unable  to  perform  the  duty.  The  commission 
was  again  offered  to  Governor  Hull,  and  he  accepted  it,  with 
no  other  object,  he  says,  than  to  aid  in  the  protection  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Michigan  against  the  savages. 

General  Hull  was  not  of  the  opinion  that  the  conquest  of 
Canada  would  be  so  very  easy  a matter.  He  had  earnestly 
stated  that  to  conquer  Canada,  or  even  to  preserve  Michigan, 
it  was  necessary  either  to  have  command  of  Lake  Erie,  by 
means  of  a fleet  superior  to  that  of  the  British,  or  to  invade 
Upper  Canada  with  two  powerful  and  cooperating  armies  at 
Detroit  and  Niagara.  On  May  25  th  he  was  invested  with  the 
command  of  the  militia,  and  a few  days  afterward  set  out 
toward  Detroit.  War  had  not  yet  been  declared. 


DEFENSE  OF  GENERAL  HULL. 


233 


On  the  1 8th  day  of  June,  the  day  on  which  war  was  declared, 
two  letters  were  written  to  General  Hull  by  the  Secretary  of 
War,  one  of  which  contained  the  information  that  war  had 
been  declared;  in  the  other  no  mention  was  made  of  the 
matter.  One  of  these  letters  was  dispatched  by  a special  mes- 
senger; the  other  was  sent  by  the  public  mail  to  Cleveland, 
and  thence  through  a wilderness  of  one  hundred  miles  by  such 
conveyance  as  “ accident  might  supply  ” It  might  be  supposed 
that  the  letter  which  was  sent  so  carefully  contained  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  declaration  of  war,  seeing  it  was  rather 
important  than  otherwise  that  the  commander  of  the  army 
should  be  apprised  of  this  event.  But  no — it  was  the  other 
letter  that  engrossed  the  care  of  the  secretary.  This  compara- 
tively unimportant  letter  reached  the  camp  on  the  24th  of  June. 
Eight  days  afterward  the  one  containing  information  of  the 
declaration  of  war — which  seems  to  have  been  too  sensible  of 
its  own  importance  to  make  any  vulgar  haste — presented  itself 
in  camp.  Two  days  before  this  the  enemy,  at  Malden,  had 
received  the  intelligence.  General  Hull  had  placed  on  board 
a vessel  important  baggage,  stores,  and  the  invalids  of  the 
army.  The  British  garrison  at  Malden,  having  been  apprised 
of  the  declaration  of  war,  quietly  took  possession  of  the  vessel 
as  it  was  passing  the  fort. 

Such  a beginning  leads  us  naturally  to  expect  the  events 
which  followed.  In  a short  time  Michilimackinac  was  taken, 
and  this  encouraged  the  Indians  to  resort  in  great  numbers  to  the 
British  standard.  General  Hulks  supplies  were  cut  off,  for  the 
enemy  commanded  the  lake  with  their  ships  and  the  forest  with 
their  Indians.  General  Dearborn,  instead  of  cooperating  with 
General  Hull,  had  made  an  armistice  with  the  British  com- 
mander, excluding  General  Hull  from  its  operation.  General 
Brock  was  thus  enabled  to  send  reinforcements  to  act  against 
General  Hull.  We  quote  Mr.  Clarke’s  strong  statement: 

“General  Hull  found  himself  therefore  entirely  deprived  of  the  assist- 
ance on  which  he  had  depended.  He  is  told  by  the  Secretary  of  War, 

20 


234 


DEFENSE  OF  GENERAL  HULL. 


June  24th — which  letter  was  not  received  until  the  9th  of  July — that  ‘an 
adequate  force  can  not  soon  be  relied  upon  for  the  reduction  of  the  en- 
emy’s posts  below  you.’  From  the  north  he  hears  of  the  fall  of  Michili- 
mackinac  and  of  the  approach  of  two  thousand  hostile  Indian  warriors 
and  twelve  hundred  employees  of  the  Northwest  Company.  In  front  of 
his  own  army  he  finds  reinforcements  continually  arriving  of  regulars  and 
militia  to  strengthen  the  British  troops  at  Malden.  On  the  lake  his  com- 
munications were  cut  off  by  the  British  fleet;  on  the  south,  by  land,  his 
communications  were  cut  off  by  the  Indians,  and  an  attempt  to  restore 
them  by  Van  Horne’s  detachment  had  been  unsuccessful.  Within  his 
own  army,  ignorant  and  incapable  of  understanding  this  state  of  things, 
there  was  a spirit  of  insubordination  and  mutiny,  fostered  and  encouraged 
even  by  the  militia  officers  themselves.  In  this  state  of  affairs,  on  the 
7th  of  August,  he  received  letters  from  General  Hall  and  General  Porter, 
commanding  at  Niagara  and  Black  Rock,  informing  him  that  a large 
number  of  boats  filled  with  British  troops  had  passed  over  Lake  Ontario 
to  the  west  part  of  it,  and  were  directing  their  course  to  Malden ; and 
likewise  that  the  British  forces,  with  the  Canadian  militia  and  savages,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Niagara  River,  were  moving  by  water  to  the 
same  point ; and  what  was  more  decisive  still,  General  Hull  was  informed 
by  the  same  letters  that  no  assistance  or  cooperation  would  be  afforded 
from  that  quarter  to  the  troops  under  his  command. 

“Under  these  circumstances  to  attack  Malden,  even  if  the  attack  were 
successful,  would  have  been  useless.  To  take  Malden  would  not  open 
the  lake  nor  the  forest,  would  bring  no  supplies  to  his  troops,  and  it  must 
soon  have  fallen  again  for  want  of  them.  The  first  thing  to  be  done  was 
to  reopen  the  communication  through  the  wilderness  to  Ohio.  For  this 
purpose  General  Hull  re-crossed  with  his  army  to  Detroit  on  the  evening 
of  the  7th  of  August,  leaving  a sufficient  body  of  troops  intrenched  and 
fortified  on  the  other  bank  to  enable  him  to  regain  the  British  shore  as 
soon  as  his  communications  were  clear.” 

General  Brock  crossed  from  Malden  to  Detroit,  and  was 
preparing  for  an  assault  upon  the  fort,  when  General  Hull 
determined  to  surrender ; an  act  which  Mr.  Clarke  regards  as 
“the  bravest  and  noblest  action  of  a life  hitherto  universally 
regarded  as  that  of  a brave  and  patriotic  man” 

“It  would  have  required  very  little  courage  to  fight.  General  Hull 
had  been  in  many  battles  of  the  Revolution.  There  probably  was  not  an 
officer  or  soldier  in  his  whole  army  who  had  seen  half  as  much  of  war  as 
himself.  He  had  led  a column  of  seven  companies  at  the  taking  of  Stony 
Point  with  the  bayonet,  under  General  Wayne;  for  his  conduct  in  which 


DEFENSE  OF  GENERAL  HULL. 


235 


action  he  received  the  thanks  of  Washington  and  promotion  in  the  serv- 
ice. He  was  in  the  midst  of  the  battle  of  White  Plains,  and  was  there 
wounded.  He  was  in  the  battles  of  Trenton  and  Princeton,  and  was  pro- 
moted for  his  conduct  in  those  engagements.  He  fought  at  Ticonderoga, 
at  Bernis’  Pleights  in  the  battle  of  October  7th,  at  Monmouth,  Morris- 
sania,  and  other  places,  and  led  regiments  and  battalions  in  most  of  these 
actions.  Now  the  courage  which  can  engage  in  a battle  is  very  much  a 
thing  of  habit.  Many  men  are  cowards  in  their  first  battle  ; almost  all  men 
are  brave  in  the  tenth.  Is  it  likely,  therefore,  that  General  Hull  should 
have  been  the  only  man  in  his  army  disabled  by  fear  from  fighting  Gen- 
eral Brock?  Is  not  this  supposition  an  absurdity?  What,  then,  were 
his  reasons,  as  given  by  himself?  General  Hull  was  now  in  the  position 
in  which,  as  he  had  stated  before  the  war  to  the  administration,  Detroit 
must  fall.  His  communications  with  Ohio  were  cut  off  by  the  Indians  in 
the  woods,  his  communication  by  the  lake  by  the  British  vessels,  and  he 
had  no  cooperation  below  at  Niagara.  Under  these  circumstances  the 
fall  of  Detroit  was  inevitable.  If  he  should  fight  a battle  and  defeat  the 
British  army,  this  result  would  not  be  less  inevitable ; for  a victory  would 
not  reopen  his  communications.  Besides  this,  his  forces  were  vastly  infe- 
rior to  those  of  the  enemy ; his  provisions  were  nearly  exhausted,  and 
there  was  no  possibility  of  obtaining  a supply  from  any  quarter.  If  he 
were  to  fight  he  would  save  his  own  reputation,  but  could  not  save  the 
army  or  territory,  and  he  would  be  exposing  the  defenseless  inhabitants 
of  Michigan  to  all  the  horrors  of  Indian  warfare  without  a reason  or  an 
object.  Under  these  circumstances  it  would  have  been  the  part  of  a selfish 
man  to  fight ; it  was  the  part  of  a brave  and  generous  man  to  hazard  the 
sacrifice  of  his  own  reputation  as  a soldier  and  his  own  selfish  feelings  to 
his  duty  as  a governor  and  a man.  General  Hull  did  the  last — and  to  the 
time  of  his  death  never  regretted  it  for  a moment.  In  disgrace,  con- 
demned to  death  as  a coward,  believed  to  be  a traitor  by  the  ignorant, 
seeing  the  success  of  his  calumniators  who  built  their  fortunes  on  the  ruin 
of  his  own,  he  was  always  calm,  tranquil,  and  happy.  He  knew  that  his 
country  would  one  day  also  understand  him,  and  that  history  would  at 
last  do  him  justice.  He  was  asked  on  his  death-bed  whether  he  still 
believed  he  had  done  right  in  the  surrender  of  Detroit,  and  he  replied 
that  he  did,  and  was  thankful  that  he  had  been  enabled  to  do  it. 

“The  defense  of  General  Hull  rests  mainly  on  the  following  propo- 
sitions: 1.  An  army  in  the  situation  of  that  of  General  Hull,  August 
16th — cut  off  from  its  supplies  and  with  no  adequate  means  of  opening 
its  communications — must  inevitably  fall.  2.  That,  in  this  situation,  to 
fight  would  have  been  a useless  expenditure  of  life,  and  would  have 
unnecessarily  exposed  the  inhabitants  of  the  territory  to  Indian  cruelties. 
3.  That  this  situation  was  not  his  fault,  but  that  of  the  general  govern- 


236 


DEFENSE  OF  GENERAL  HULL. 


ment,  of  General  Dearborn,  and  of  circumstances  for  which  no  one  is 
perhaps  responsible.  4.  That  the  troops  of  General  Hull,  on  August 
1 6th,  were  much  inferior  in  number  to  General  Brock’s.  5.  That  the 
provisions  of  the  army  were  nearly  exhausted,  and  no  further  supplies 
could  be  obtained.” 

Mr.  Clarke  brings  forward  the  strongest  proofs  in  support  of 
his  positions.  No  one  who  reads  this  book,  it  seems  to  us,  can 
avoid  the  conclusion  that  General  Hull  was  a much-injured  man, 
who  was  made  to  suffer  in  order  to  relieve  others  from  odium. 
The  charge  of  cowardice  against  him  is,  to  any  one  who  looks 
at  his  previous  life,  one  of  the  most  absurd  ever  brought 
against  a human  being.  The  man  who  marched  his  troops 
up  to  the  batteries  at  Stony  Point  a coward!  The  man  who 
commanded  the  expedition  against  Morrissania,  and  received 
for  his  gallant  conduct  the  thanks  of  Washington  and  of 
Congress  a coward! 


FASHION. 


TO  obey  the  commands  of  Fashion,  her  votaries  are  obliged 
to  devote  their  whole  souls.  She  will  not  submit  to  a 
divided  allegiance.  Her  worshipers  labor  night  and  day  to 
enjoy  her  favors.  Her  will  is  all-powerful,  and  her  worshipers 
will  sacrifice  any  thing  and  every  thing  at  her  command.  We 
are  shocked  at  the  sacrifice  of  children;  but  in  this  Christian 
land  thousands  of  children  are  every  day  sacrificed  to  Fashion 
by  parents  who  hold  up  their  hands  in  horror  when  they  hear 
of  the  worship  of  Moloch.  We  pity  the  deluded  Hindoo  whose 
body  is  crushed  beneath  the  car  of  his  idol;  but  his  fate  is  not 
more  pitiable  than  is  that  of  thousands  who  prostrate  themselves 
before  the  car  of  Fashion.  In  the  one  case  the  suffering  is  mo- 
mentary, in  the  other  it  is  prolonged  through  years.  Indeed, 
what  will  not  the  votary  of  Fashion  do  to  gratify  the  object  of 
his  worship!  There  is  no  god  with  an  influence  over  the  souls 
of  his  votaries  so  potent  as  that  of  Fashion.  It  is  true  that  no 
magnificent  temples  rise  in  her  honor;  but  the  devotion  is  not 
on  this  account  less  ardent  nor  the  sacrifices  less  costly.  The 
fire  upon  her  altars  is  never  extinguished,  and  nothing  is  too 
precious  to  be  sacrificed.  Her  votaries  worship  her  in  the 
streets  and  in  the  privacy  of  home.  They  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing and  devote  their  earliest  thoughts  to  her ; they  retire  to  their 
beds  and  she  is  still  before  them.  Even  in  dreams  she  visits 
them  in  new  and  brighter  glory.  Their  lives  are  “one  contin- 
ued hymn  of  praise”  to  her. 

She  is  exalted  “above  all  Greek  above  all  Roman”  gods. 
So  unlimited  is  the  devotion  of  her  worshipers  that  their  ideas 
of  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly  are  entirely  controlled  by  her. 

(23  7) 


238 


FASHION. 


They  see  not  with  their  own  eyes,  nor  hear  with  their  own  ears. 
That  is  beautiful  which  Fashion  decides  to  be  so,  and  that  is  ugly 
which  meets  with  her  disapprobation.  She  is  capricious  too, 
and  changes  without  the  slightest  reason.  She  speaks,  and  that 
which  was  the  ugliest  becomes  the  most  beautiful;  she  waves 
her  sceptre,  and  the  most  beautiful  becomes  so  disgusting  that 
her  votary  will  not  look  upon  it.  She  commands,  and  her  sub- 
jects violate  the  plainest  laws  of  morality.  They  subject  them- 
selves to  the  greatest  tortures;  they  destroy  their  health  and 
bring  themselves  to  an  untimely  grave,  self-sacrificed  to  Fashion. 
We  pity  the  benighted  followers  of  Juggernaut;  but  among 
ourselves  is  a Juggernaut  more  terrible  than  that  of  Hindostan. 
The  ground  of  a small  district  round  the  temple  of  the  Hindoo 
Juggernaut  is  covered  with  bones;  but  if  all  that  the  Christian 
Juggernaut  has  done  were  made  to  appear,  every  hill-side  would 
be  white  with  bones  and  every  valley  red  with  blood. 

Suppose  that  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  or  all  the  potentates 
Europe  combined,  should  order  us  to  wear  an  inch  of  a partic- 
ular kind  of  ribbon  on  our  dress,  at  the  same  time  furnishing 
us  with  the  ribbon  and  relieving  us  from  all  trouble  in  regard 
to  it,  would  any  one  in  our  country  for  a moment  think  of 
obeying  the  order?  No,  not  all  the  armies  of  Europe  could 
compel  us  to  wear  the  little  inch  of  ribbon.  But  a mysterious 
power,  residing  we  know  not  where,  tells  us  to  clothe  ourselves 
in  the  most  uncomfortable  dress,  to  torture  ourselves  into  un- 
natural shapes,  to  make  ourselves  more  ridiculous  than  court- 
fools  in  the  eye  of  good  taste,  to  carry  with  us  through  life 
burdens  which  we  lay  down  only  when  they  have  brought  us  to 
the  grave.  And  to  all  this  we  submit  without  a murmur ; nay, 
we  are  eager  to  perform  the  commands  of  the  tyrant.  We  know 
not  who  it  is  that  exerts  this  power.  Its  origin  is  covered  with 
darkness  like  that  which  veiled  the  doings  of  the  secret  tribunals 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  We  know  that  this  power  has  its  source 
somewhere  in  Paris ; and  if  we  could  trace  it  up  to  the  centre 
from  which  it  radiates,  we  should  probably  find  that  centre  in 


FASHION. 


239 


the  shop  of  a French  milliner.  There  sits  the  little  female  who 
tells  the  world  of  fashion  wherewithal  it  shall  be  clothed;  who 
orders  the  proudest  lady  of  the  land  to  put  this  on,  and  she 
puts  it  on ; to  take  that  off,  and  she  tramples  it  under  her  feet ; 
to  burden  herself  with  a weight  that  she  can  scarcely  bear,  and 
she  takes  it  up  without  a murmur;  to  enlarge  or  diminish  her 
outer  dimensions,  and  she  expands  or  contracts  at  the  word. 
Hers  is  a power  such  as  despotic  kings  have  in  vain  attempted 
to  exercise.  Even  kings  have  found  themselves  obliged  to 
submit  to  this  power.  Charles  II.  attempted  to  resist  it;  but 
a sensible  observer  saw  from  the  first  that  the  attempt  was  vain. 
“It  was  a comely  and  manly  habit/5  says  Evelyn,  “too  good  to 
hold,  it  being  impossible  for  us  in  good  earnest  to  leave  the 
Monsieur1  s vanities  long.55 

There  is  no  part  of  the  human  frame  which  fashion  has  not 
succeeded  in  deforming.  ETpon  the  head  have  been  placed 
towers  like  those  of  churches,  plumes  waving  high  in  the  air 
like  the  banners  of  an  army,  and  immense  structures  of  paste- 
board, ribbon,  and  wire  piled  up  like  Pelion  upon  Ossa,  and 
seeming  to  defy  heaven  itself.  The  poor  head  has  been  forced 
to  carry  coiffures  like  the  tusks  of  an  elephant,  the  ears  of  an 
ass,  the  covering  of  a tent,  or  the  curtains  of  a bed.  Then  the 
face  has  been  patched  up  with  black  spots  shaped  like  suns, 
moons,  stars,  hearts,  and  even  carriages  and  horses.  The  neck 
has  been  stiffened  and  smothered  with  great  ruffs,  expanding 
like  wings  as  high  as  the  head  or  falling  over  the  shoulders  like 
flags.  The  bust  and  waist  have  been  tortured  with  whalebone 
and  cords  till  nature  sank  under  the  torture.  Then  hoops, 
“ from  the  size  of  a butter-churn  to  the  circumference  of  three 
hogsheads,55  have  come  in  rotation,  blocking  up  the  streets  and 
the  doors,  and  sometimes  presenting  the  wearer  in  the  form  of 
an  infinitessimal  portion  of  humanity  fastened  in  the  top  of  a 
pyramid.  Then  furbelows  and  flounces  have  done  all  in  their 
power  to  destroy  all  beauty  and  grace.  The  foot  too  has  suf- 
fered, being  sometimes  pinched  and  sometimes  incased  in  masses 


240 


FASHION. 


of  leather  that  impeded  locomotion  and  made  it  almost  impos- 
sible for  the  wearer  to  kneel  in  prayer. 

One  might  be  tempted  to  think  that,  when  it  reached  the 
feet,  the  force  of  fashion  could  no  further  go.  But  let  us  not 
deceive  ourselves.  Who  shall  fix  the  limit  to  fashion?  When 
it  reaches  the  ground  is  there  not  left  the  whole  surface  of  the 
terraqueous  globe  to  expatiate  in?  Long  trains  have  perhaps 
been  oftener  in  fashion  than  almost  any  other  article  of  dress. 
In  the  time  of  Henry  I.  the  skirts  of  the  dress  lay  trailing  upon 
the  ground.  A writer  of  the  thirteenth  century  says,  “The 
pies  have  long  tails  that  trail  in  the  mud;  so  the  ladies  make 
their  tails  a thousand  times  longer  than  those  of  peacocks  and 
pies.” 

But  we  pass  over  the  long  trains  which  had  to  be  carried  by 
pages,  and  come  to  our  own  times.  We  have  had  monstrosities 
enough,  many  of  which  have  been  banished  by  good  taste.  If 
we  look  at  some  of  the  engravings  of  fashion  issued  during  the 
present  century,  we  shall  find  that  in  regard  to  taste  we  have 
very  slight  claims  to  superiority  over  our  ancestors.  Look  at 
that  picture,  which  seems  to  represent  a pole  between  two 
bacon  hams,  with  something  resembling  a human  face  on  top, 
looking  as  if  it  were  placed  there  to  guard  the  bacon.  That 
is  one  of  the  fashions  of  the  second  quarter  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Look  at  this  other,  which  suggests  the  idea  of  a 
modern  Andromeda  or  Angelica,  who,  instead  of  being  fast- 
ened to  a rock,  is  enveloped  from  her  waist  downward  in  a 
hay-stack,  and  is  waiting  for  some  monster  to  come  and  de- 
vour her. 

But  it  is  to  the  train  that  we  show  the  most  decided  inclina- 
tion. Other  things  we  can  give  up,  but  the  train  we  must  keep. 
It  is  true  we  have  no  train-bearers,  and  on  this  account  we  find 
ourselves  “cabined,  cribbed,  confined,”  but  we  take  as  much 
of  the  train  as  the  nature  of  the  case  will  permit.  Our  women 
have  become  tail-bearers.  We  have  taken  the  most  inconvenient 
and  ungraceful  length  that  could  be  devised.  If  we  had  a little 


FASHION. 


241 


more,  there  might  be  something  respectable  in  it,  as  there  is 
something  respectable  in  any  thing  bold  and  decided,  even  if 
it  is  decided  rascality.  But  we  have  become  afraid,  and 

“Back  recoiled , we  know  not  why, 

Even  at  the  tail  ourselves  have  made.” 

If  a long  train  made  a bold  sweep  of  dirt  and  mud,  without  any 
“ compunctious  visitings  of  nature,”  it  might  be  admired  for 
its  boldness.  Something  bold  like  this  would  have  a masculine 
effect  and  change  milliners  to  tail- ors.  But  now  the  fair  one 
says,  like  the  ghost  in  Hamlet,  “I  would  a tail  unfold,”  but 
she  dares  not. 

21 


DREAMING  TO  ORDER. 


MY  friend  Maggie  gave  me  a piece  of  cake  left  by  Jenny 
Lind,  and  I promised  her  to  dream  over  it.  As  bed- 
time approached,  I said  to  myself,  “Now,  as  I have  some 
dreaming  to  do,  I must  try  to  get  into  a dreamy  state.  For 
Maggie’s  sake  I should  like  to  do  the  job  in  the  very  best 
style.”  I looked  into  the  fire,  and  soon  began  to  see  a num- 
ber of  forms,  animate  and  inanimate,  playing  fantastic  tricks  in 
the  grate.  The  boundary  line  between  the  real  world  and  the 
dream  world  began  to  waver,  and  the  two  worlds  seemed  to  run 
into  each  other.  A beautiful  haze  spread  itself  around  me,  and 
for  a time  I could  see  nothing  else.  Then  my  body  itself 
seemed  to  acquire  a kind  of  hazy  feeling,  the  particles  retaining 
their  form,  but  becoming  etherealized.  A sense  of  lightness 
and  expansion  pervaded  my  system.  I raised  my  arm  and  it 
did  not  seem  willing  to  fall.  I started  to  walk,  and  found  that 
I acquired  such  an  impetus  by  touching  one  foot  to  the  ground 
that  I could  scarcely  get  the  other  down.  I felt  myself  becom- 
ing more  and  more  ethereal.  My  soul  seemed  to  expand  from 
its  seat  in  the  brain,  spreading  itself  till  it  filled  every  pore  of 
my  body.  I floated  along  without  being  able  to  touch  the 
ground.  I felt  uncomfortable,  and  wished  for  some  one  to  steady 
me.  I was  too  light  for  the  earth  and  too  heavy  for  the  air. 
Suddenly  I felt  a thrill  of  ineffable  pleasure  in  every  part  of  my 
system.  The  power  of  gravitation  was  overcome,  and  I shot 
away  from  the  earth  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  I could  no 
longer  even  see  the  planet  I had  left.  I was  in  an  atmosphere 
of  glory,  bright  beyond  all  human  imagination ; but  the  most 
gorgeous  colors  were  so  blended  and  harmonized  that  there  was 
(242) 


DREAMING  TO  ORDER. 


243 


nothing  glaring.  I breathed  the  splendor,  and  it  seemed  the 
appropriate  food  for  my  ethereal  nature.  There  was  an  exquis- 
ite sense  of  harmony  throughout  my  system.  There  was  not 
merely  a visible  but  an  audible  adaptation  of  one  part  to  an- 
other. The  arm  seemed  to  be  a musical  accompaniment  to  the 
body;  and  even  the  fingers,  and  different  parts  of  the  fingers, 
were  audibly  harmonious  with  each  other.  Indeed,  when  I saw 
or  heard  it,  I soon  discovered  that  the  glory  around  me  was  the 
harmony  of  the  spheres.  The  colors  were  the  sounds  that  the 
heavenly  bodies  make  in  their  motion,  as  each  of  them  “ like  an 
angel  sings,  still  choiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim.”  They 
literally  “sang  to  my  eye”  as  well  as  to  my  ear. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  in  the  language  of  mortals  the 
ecstatic  delight  of  my  whole  being  as  I perceived  the  harmony 
of  the  spheres  with  two  senses  at  the  same  time,  and  those 
senses  in  so  heavenly  a degree  of  refinement.  I saw  with  my 
ear  and  heard  with  my  eye,  and  “each  lent  to  each  a double 
charm.”  The  pleasure  was  not  merely  doubled  by  being  de- 
rived from  two  senses  at  the  same  time,  but  rendered  a thousand- 
fold more  intense  by  the  harmony  between  the  two  senses.  A 
heavenly  tone  would  throw  off  a beautiful  color,  and  it  sounded 
as  if  all  the  beauties  of  music  had  been  collected  into  one  note. 
Again,  I would  hear  a sweet  note,  and  all  beautiful  colors 
would  seem  to  be  mingled  together  in  the  most  enchanting 
glow.  Then  the  harmony  between  the  two  manifestations  of 
the  same  thing  added  intensely  to  the  emotion. 

Mortals  may  make  some  approximation  to  a conception  of 
my  idea  by  imagining  the  rose  to  sing  out  its  colors,  and  the 
nightingale’s  notes  to  form  a rainbow  of  song  around  it.  But 
this  is  not  all.  The  rainbow  must  be  heard  as  well  as  seen,  and 
the  song  of  the  rose  must  be  seen  as  well  as  heard.  Nor  is 
even  this  all.  The  exquisite  harmony  between  the  visible  and 
the  audible  manifestations  must  be  heard  and  must  be  seen. 

While  my  delighted  spirit  was  looking  and  listening,  seeming 
to  be  at  the  same  time  all  eye  and  all  ear,  suddenly  a tone  more 


244 


DREAMING  TO  ORDER. 


beautiful  than  any  I had  heard  went  sounding  through  the  em- 
pyrean. I looked,  and  traced  the  brightness  of  its  course  as  it 
floated  through  the  sea  of  harmony.  It  had  over  me  an  irre- 
sistible power  of  fascination.  I was  obliged  to  follow,  and  away 
I flew.  As  I looked,  the  sound  seemed  to  form  itself  into  the 
features  of  a soul.  On  it  flew  as  if  earnestly  seeking  for  some- 
thing. A dim  spot  came  in  view,  and  I found  we  were  rapidly 
approaching  the  earth.  The  northern  ocean  was  soon  beneath 
us.  The  object  I was  following  flew  on  rapidly  and  eagerly  as 
ever  till  I saw  it  enter  a cottage  in  Sweden.  I saw  it  no  more ; 
but  a Swedish  maiden  in  the  cottage  opened  her  lips,  and  the 
sound  was  there. 

I started — There  was  a bright  fire  in  the  grate;  the  tea- 
kettle which  had  been  left  on  the  fire  was  singing  and  spouting 
steam.  The  vapor  seemed  to  be  the  sound  showing  itself  to 
the  eye.  “Have  I been  dreaming  with  my  eyes  open?”  said 
I to  myself,  “and  is  my  music  of  the  spheres  nothing  but  the 
music  of  this  sphere  of  a teakettle?  In  one  way  or  the  other, 
however,  I have  fulfilled  my  promise  to  Maggie.” 


WE  HAVE  CHANGED  ALL  THAT. 


Geronte.  II  n’y  a qu’une  seule  chose  qui  m’a  choque:  c’est  l’endroit 
du  foie  et  du  coeur.  II  me  semble  que  vous  les  placez  autrement  qu’ils  ne 
sont ; que  le  coeur  est  du  cote  gauche  et  le  foie  du  cote  droit. 

Sganarelle . Oui ; cela  etait  autrefois  ainsi ; mais  nous  avons  change 
tout  cela,  et  nous  faisons  maintenant  la  medecine  d’une  methode  toute 
nouvelle. 

Geronte.  C’est  ce  que  je  ne  savais  pas,  et  je  vous  demande  pardon  de 
mon  ignorance. 

Sganarelle.  II  n’y  a pas  de  mal ; et  vous  n’etes  pas  oblige  d’etre  ainsi 
habile  que  nous. — Moliere.  Le  Medecin  Malgre  Lui , Acte  ii,  sc.  6. 

[Free  Translation.]  Geronte.  There  is  only  one  thing  which  has 
staggered  me;  that  is  the  place  of  the  nominative  and  the  objective.  It 
seems  to  me  that  you  place  them  differently  from  what  they  are ; that  the 
objective  follows  a transitive  verb  and  the  nominative  an  intransitive  verb. 

Sganarelle.  Yes  ; that  was  so  formerly;  but  we  have  changed  all  that, 
and  we  now  teach  grammar  on  a principle  entirely  new. 

Geronte.  I did  not  know  that ; and  I beg  pardon  for  my  ignorance. 

Sganarelle.  There  is  no  harm  done ; and  you  are  not  obliged  to  be  as 
knowing  as  we  [us]. 

I ’ll  grammar  with  you.  — Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  Laws  of  Candy , 
Act  ii,  sc.  i. 

The  me  or  the  not  me.  [Original  translation.] — Kant.  Kritik  der 
Reinen  Vernunft , passim. 


HAT  are  we  to  believe?  Is  there  nothing  fixed?  The 


truth  of  Newton’s  theory  of  gravitation  has  seemed  to 
be  pretty  well  established;  but  of  late  days  that  has  been  dis- 
puted. I have  been  accustomed  to  regard  vaccination  as  a 
preventive  of  smallpox;  but  public  meetings  have  been  held  in 
London  to  denounce  it.  The  name  of  William  Tell  has  from 
time  immemorial  been  employed  to  nerve  the  patriot’s  arm; 
but  Tell  is  now  pronounced  a myth.  Richard  III.  has  been 


(245) 


246 


WE  HAVE  CHANGED  ALL  THAT. 


declared  to  be  a very  respectable  person ; and  I should  not  be 
surprised  to  find  Lucrezia  Borgia  and  her  brother  turn  out  to 
be  saints,  the  odor  of  whose  sanctity  is  destined  to  regale  the 
olfactories  of  the  remotest  generations. 

But  it  is  necessary  to  believe  in  something;  every  one  must 
have  something  to  stand  on.  After  making  a careful  survey  I 
had  fixed  upon  “ It  is  I ” as  the  thing  in  which  I might  believe 
to  the  end  of  time — as  the  thing  on  which  I might  stand  with- 
out any  fear  of  having  it  knocked  from  under  my  feet.  But 
alas!  Dr.  Latham  came  forward  and  contended  for  It  is  me. 
This  was  to  me  like  the  shock  given  by  an  electric  eel.  I 
recovered,  and  still  believed  in  it  is  I Dr.  Latham,  I said, 
may  be  a good  etymologist;  but  it  is  evident  that  he  has  not 
read  the  English  classics.  This  is  merely  an  etymological  freak 
of  his;  for  he  condemns  it  is  him , it  is  her.  Then  came  Dean 
Alford,  who  contended  for  it  is  me , it  is  him , it  is  her , it  is  them. 
I felt  it  is  I shaking  under  me;  but  as  I perceived  that  Dean 
Alford  could  not  write  good  English,  I could  not  give  up  it  is  I 
for  him.  Then  came  an  American  Grammar,  the  author  of 
which  says,  with  the  air  of  one  who  knows,  “ Latham  and  Alford 
are  right  in  considering  the  phrases  [//  is  me,  it  will  be  me]  to  be 
idiomatic  and  more  correct  than  it  is  1 , it  will  be  II  And  then 
comes  a monthly  magazine  and  in  three  numbers  discusses  the 
point.  The  result  is  I give  up  it  is  I to  “ grammarians  of  the 
smaller  order  ” and  “ schoolmasters  of  the  lower  kind,”  as  Dean 
Alford  styles  those  who  object  to  it  is  me. 

I held  out  against  the  monthly  magazine  till  I came  to  the 
Danish  language  and  the  dativus  ethicus.  Every  child  knows 
that  the  Danish  language  was  invented  merely  for  the  purpose 
of  showing  how  to  speak  English,  and  the  dativus  ethicus  is — 
the  dativus  ethicus.  When  I learned  that  me  is  the  dativus  eth- 
icus I had  nothing  more  to  say.  Mr.  Ellis  had  said  that  me  is 
in  the  dative;  but  that  did  not  entirely  destroy  my  confidence 
in  it  is  I.  It  was  the  dativus  ethicus  that  poured  a flood  of  light 
on  the  subject,  and  I can  now  say  with  Mr.  Ellis,  “The  conclu- 


WE  HAVE  CHANGED  ALL  THAT. 


247 


sion  seems  to  be  that  it's  me  is  good  English,  and  it's  I a mis- 
taken purism.”  Of  course  it  is  we , it  is  thou , it  is  she , it  is  he, 
it  is  they  follow  it  is  I,  giving  place  to  it  is  us,  it  is  thee,  it  is  her, 
it  is  him,  it  is  them;  and  who  is  it?  must  give  place  to  whom  is  it? 

And  now  will  not  some  lover  of  the  human  race  take  upon 
himself  the  task  of  revising  all  our  classic  authors  so  as  to 
restore  the  dativus  ethicus  to  its  place  ? It  is  true  that  the  labor 
will  be  immense;  for  all  our  classic  authors  have  been  misled 
by  “ grammarians  of  the  smaller  order,”  so  that  they  never 
wrote  good  English  unless  by  accident.  The  philanthropist 
who  undertakes  this  benevolent  work  will  have  to  devote  his 
life  to  it.  In  going  through  our  translation  of  the  Bible  he  will 
not  find  a single  instance  of  this  dativus  ethicus,  the  nominative 
being  always  employed.  The  translators  thought  they  were 
writing  English  when  they  wrote  “It  is  I;  be  not  afraid,”  which 
must  now  be  changed  to  “It  is  me;  be  not  afraid.”  Poor  fel- 
lows! they  had  been  taught  by  “grammarians  of  the  smaller 
order”  and  “schoolmasters  of  the  lower  kind.”  Indeed,  all 
the  grammarians  before  Latham,  Alford,  and  the  American 
author  were  of  the  “ smaller  order,”  and  all  the  schoolmasters 
from  Roger  Ascham  down  were  “of  the  lower  kind.” 

Spenser  will  have  to  be  corrected,  so  as  to  be  made  to  say, 

Even  him  it  was  that  earst  would  have  supprest 

Faire  Una ; 

For  her  it  is  that  did  my  lord  be  thrall. 

What  a sensation  will  that  actor  create  who  first  says,  “ This 
is  me,  Hamlet  the  Dane  ” ! I will  give  a few  more  specimens 
of  the  changes  that  must  be  made  by  every  actor  who  looks 
down  upon  “grammarians  of  the  smaller  order.” 

Is  ’t  not  me 

That  undergo  this  charge  ? — King  John . 

And  I am  me,  howe’er  I was  begot. — lb. 

He  is  not  her. — lb . 

’T  was  me,  but ’t  is  not  me. — As  You  Like  It. 


248 


WE  HAVE  CHANGED  ALL  THAT. 


Is  not  that  him  ? 

No;  this  was  him , Messala.  —Julius  Coesar. 

If  it  be  him  I mean. — Hamlet. 

It  is  both  him  and  her. — Lear. 

Ingrateful  fox ! ’t  is  him . — lb . 

It  was  him 

That  made  the  overture  of  thy  treason  to  us. — lb . 

Alack  ! ’t  is  him . — lb . 

The  honorable  lady  of  the  house,  which  is  her? — T.  Night . 

And  now  I do  bethink  me,  it  was  her 
First  told  me  thou  wast  mad. — lb . 

’T  is  him. — Macbeth. 

As  it  is  a murderer  that  is  speaking,  perhaps  this  may  be  per- 
mitted to  stand  V is  he. 

Milton's  if  thou  beest  he  may  also  be  permitted  to  stand, 
since  it  is  the  devil  that  speaks.  But  the  speech  of  Death 
should  be  corrected: 

Art  thou  the  traitor  angel  ? Art  thou  him 
Who  first  broke  peace  in  heaven  ? 

I will  give  a few  more  specimens  of  passages  corrected: 

It  was  him 

Encouraged  young  Antinous  to  affront 
The  devil  his  father. — Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

Was  ’t  not  him,  wench? — Id. 

’T  is  me  accuse  thee,  Silius. — Ben  Jonson. 

Thou  wert  him 
That  saved  the  empire. — Id. 

Shadwell  alone  of  all  my  sons  was  him 

Who  stands  confirmed  in  all  stupidity. — Dryden . 

Her , her  it  is 

Affords  that  bliss. — George  Wither. 

What  beckoning  ghost  along  the  moonlight  shade 
Invites  my  steps  and  points  to  yonder  glade? 

’T  is  her! — but  why  that  bleeding  bosom  gored  ? 

Why  dimly  gleams  the  visionary  sword  ? — Pope . 


WE  HAVE  CHANGED  ALL  THAT. 


249 


This  reading,  besides  being  correct  according  to  gramma- 
rians of  the  larger  order,  tends  to  remove  any  little  objection 
one  might  have  to  seeing  that  bleeding  bosom  gored. 

I have  taken  these  passages  from  our  older  writers,  in  order 
to  show  that  from  the  beginning  “grammarians  of  the  smaller 
order  ” have  corrupted  our  language. 

Mr.  G.  W.  Moon  says  to  Dean  Alford:  “You  sneer  at 
‘Americanisms/  but  you  would  never  find  an  educated  Amer- 
ican who  would  venture  to  say  ‘7/  is  me  ’ for  ‘ It  is  I ; ’ or,  ‘7/  is 
him 9 for  ‘It  is  he;’  or,  ‘ different  to:  for  ‘ different  from.’  ” 

This  remark  applies  to  the  state  of  things  existing  before  we 
had  been  instructed  by  grammarians  of  the  larger  order;  but 
we  shall  soon  be  able  to  say,  “We  have  changed  all  that.” 

Note. — Sauerteig,  Thomas  Carlyle’s  friend,  says:  “O  foolish  mortals! 
why  will  ye  equip  balloons  at  enormous  expense  for  the  purpose  of  going 
to  the  moon  for  green  cheese,  when  cheese  of  any  required  degree  of 
greenness  is  waiting  for  you  and  the  needful  pence  at  the  corner  grocer' s- 
store?  Why  will  ye  resort  to  the  Danish  language  and  the  dativus  ethicus 
for  an  explanation  of  it  is  me  when  so  ready  an  explanation  is  to  be  found 
in  the  inability  of  the  vulgar  to  distinguish  one  class  of  verbs  from  an- 
other? When  they  see  a sick  man  recover  after  having  eaten  cabbage  do 
they  not  go  stumbling  into  the  generalization  that  cabbage  is  good  for  all 
sick  men?  When  they  have  learned  to  say,  ‘It  hits  me,’  ‘It  loves  me,’ 
‘It  has  me,’  is  it  not  natural  for  them  to  say,  ‘ It  is  me,’  blundering  along 
in  their  undistinguishing  way?  And  do  not  men  who  are  not  of  the  vul- 
gar occasionally,  in  their  thoughtless  moments,  use  the  language  of  the 
vulgar  ? O ye  who  waste  your  time  in  seeking  support  for  vulgar  usage 
in  your  Danish  language  and  your  dativus  ethicus , are  there  not  bedposts 
and  cords  accessible  to  you?  And  are  not  strychnine  and  prussic  acid  to 
be  procured  at  a comparatively  moderate  price?  ” 

Thus  Sauerteig  in  the  last  number  of  the  Weissnichtwd sche  Anzeiger, 
of  which  I have  received  the  only  copy  yet  issued  from  the  press.  But 
Sauerteig  is  a sour,  disappointed  man,  having  been  disappointed  in  love 
or  something  of  the  sort,  and  he  is  utterly  destitute  of  veneration  for  the 
dativus  ethicus.  He  has  even  been  known  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  the 
postpositive  article  and  the  Hebrew  sheva. 


AMERICAN  SONGSTERS. 


OUR  feathered  songsters  are  not  sufficiently  appreciated, 
though  the  woods  are  vocal  with  their  claims  to  admira^ 
tion.  We  are  too  ready  to  acknowledge  the  inferiority  of  our 
sylvan  minstrels  to  those  of  the  old  world.  Almost  every  one 
is  afraid  to  speak  of  any  of  our  songsters  in  connection  with 
the  nightingale  and  other  European  birds.  Our  poets  have 
seldom  ventured  to  give  full  expression  to  the  feelings  excited 
by  the  choristers  of  our  groves.  The  nightingale  has  been  ceh 
ebrated  by  thousands  of  poets  in  innumerable  languages;  but 
we  have  birds  whose  strains  yield  not  even  to  those  of  the 
nightingale.  The  Greeks  have  immortalized  their  tettix , an 
insect  resembling  the  grasshopper.  Plato  calls  it  the  “ Prophet 
of  the  Muses.”  The  Latin  poets  have  celebrated  the  same 
insect  under  the  name  of  cicada . The  chirping  noise  of  this 
little  insect  was  continually  used  by  the  poets  as  a simile  for 
sweet  sounds.  Those  Greek  poets  had  souls.  If  they  could 
make  so  much  of  the  tettix , what  could  they  not  do  with  the 
nightingale?  We  do  not  intend  to  decry  the  nightingale.  It 
has  earned  its  honors,  and  let  it  wear  them.  But  our  feathered 
songsters  are  too  much  like  the  brave  men  before  Agamemnon, 
who  had  no  Homer  to  celebrate  their  praises. 

Many  persons  would  be  astonished  to  hear  any  one  who  has 
listened  to  both  prefer  the  notes  of  our  mocking-bird  to  those 
of  the  nightingale.  Alexander  Wilson  does  not  speak  from  his 
own  observation,  for  he  had  not  heard  the  nightingale;  but  he 
quotes  the  Hon.  Daines  Barrington,  who  almost  unwillingly 
acknowledges  the  excellence  of  the  mocking-bird’s  note,  and 
infers  from  Barrington  s own  statement  that  our  American  bird 
(25°) 


AMERICAN  SONGSTERS.  25  I 

is  superior  to  the  European.  “If,”  says  Wilson,  “we  believe 
with  Shakespeare  that 

“The  nightingale,  if  she  should  sing  by  day, 

When  every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 
No  better  a musician  than  the  wren, 

what  must  we  think  of  that  bird  who,  in  the  glare  of  day, 
when  a multitude  of  songsters  are  straining  their  throats  in 
melody,  overpowers  all  competition;  and,  by  the  superiority  of 
his  voice,  expression,  and  action,  not  only  attracts  every  ear, 
but  frequently  strikes  dumb  his  mortified  rivals;  when  the 
silence  of  night  as  well  as  the  bustle  of  day  bears  witness  to 
his  melody;  and  even  when  in  captivity  in  a foreign  country 
he  is  declared,  by  the  best  judges  in  that  country,  to  be  fully 
equal  in  song  to  their  sweetest  bird  in  its  whole  compass?” 

But  let  us  listen  to  one  who  has  heard  the  strains  both  of 
the  mocking-bird  and  the  nightingale  — to  Audubon  himself: 
“The  musical  powers  of  this  bird,”  says  he,  “have  often  been 
taken  notice  of  by  European  naturalists  and  persons  who  find 
pleasure  in  listening  to  the  songs  of  different  birds  while  in  con- 
finement or  at  large.  Some  of  these  persons  have  described  the 
notes  of  the  nightingale  as  occasionally  fully  equal  to  those  of 
our  bird.  I have  frequently  heard  both  species  in  confinement 
and  in  the  wild  state,  and  without  prejudice  have  no  hesitation 
in  pronouncing  the  notes  of  the  European  philomel  equal  to 
those  of  a sonbrette  of  taste,  which,  could  she  study  under  a 
Mozart,  might  perhaps  in  time  become  very  interesting  in  her 
way.  But  to  compare  her  essays  to  the  finished  talent  of  the 
mocking-bird  is,  in  my  opinion,  quite  absurd.” 

We  would  not  for  a moment  hurt  the  feelings  of  the 

“Sweet  bird,  that  shuns  the  noise  of  folly, 

Most  musical,  most  melancholy.” 

We  would  not  pluck  a feather  from  the  “light-winged  Dryad  of 
the  woods;”  but  she  must  not  engage  in  a contest  with  the 
monarch  of  songsters — with  the  Shakespeare  of  the  grove.  If 


252 


AMERICAN  SONGSTERS. 


she  does  so,  she  will  certainly  meet  with  a defeat  in  this 
“music’s  duel.”  She  may  aspire  to  the  honors  of  lyric  poetry; 
she  may  be  the  Collins,  the  Gray,  or  the  Hemans  of  the  woods, 
but  she  must  not  claim  to  be 

“ Sweetest  Shakespeare,  fancy’s  child.” 

That  title  among  the  feathered  songsters  belongs  peculiarly  to 
the  minstrel  of  the  American  forest. 

The  name  applied  to  our  songster  does  not  give  a proper 
representation  of  his  character.  Though  he  takes  the  notes  of 
others,  he  utters  them  with  a grace  of  his  own.  Like  Shakes- 
peare, he  “invades  others  like  a conqueror.”  He  is  no  mere 
imitator.  He  is  one 

“Whom  Nature’s  selfe  has  made 
To  mock  herselfe  and  Truth  to  imitate.” 

Neither  is  the  bard  of  the  forest  always  dramatic.  Like  Shakes- 
peare, he  is  subjective  as  well  as  objective.  He  has  his  own  notes, 
his  sonnets  as  well  as  his  dramas. 

Superficial  critics  too  have  brought  against  him  the  same 
accusation  that  men  of  the  Hume  school  have  brought  against 
Shakespeare — that  he  mingles  together  the  serious  and  the  ludi- 
crous. But  in  this  both  Shakespeares  follow  nature.  In  nature 
the  mournful  and  the  mirthful  are  found  side  by  side,  like  light 
and  shadow  in  a picture.  No  painting  can  be  all  light  or  all 
shadow.  Our  songster  is  Democritus  and  Heraclitus  in  one. 
At  one  time  wit  and  humor  flash  from  him  like  lightnings  from 
a summer  evening  cloud,  or  rather  the  flashes  come  in  such 
rapid  succession  that  they  form  a continuous  gleam,  an  aurora 
borealis  of  humor.  Soon  he  changes  to  a plaintive  strain,  and 
a beautiful  melancholy  spreads  itself  over  all  things.  He  brings 
up  before  you  the  memory  of  joys  departed,  the  spirits  of  the 
beautiful  and  beloved  whose  forms  are  with  you  no  more.  As 
you  listen  to  him,  even  the  laugh  and  the  song  of  other  days  are 
echoed  by  memory  in  pensive  tones,  and  the  brightest  scenes 
of  past  enjoyment  are  enveloped  in  a sombre  though  soft  and 


AMERICAN  SONGSTERS.  253 

pleasant  atmosphere.  You  seem  to  listen  to  a pitying  angel 
singing  a lamentation  over  man’s  perishing  hopes. 

But  let  us  leave  the  “bard  sublime”  and  turn  to 

“The  humbler  poets, 

Whose  songs  gush  from  the  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start.” 

Let  us  first  turn  to  other  songsters  of  the  same  family — of  the 
genus  turdus.  Here  we  have  the  thrushes,  the  cat-bird,  the 
robin,  etc.  Some  of  these,  like  the  mocking-bird,  are  dramatic. 
They  are  the  Beaumonts  and  Fletchers  and  Ben  Jonsons,  but 
not  the  Shakespeares  of  the  forest.  We  think  even  the  poet- 
ical Wilson  has  not  done  justice  to  the  cat-bird.  He  who  rises 
in  the  early  twilight  of  summer  will  hear  from  the  neighboring 
tree  notes  which  send  gladness  to  the  heart,  and  some  which 
even  remind  him  faintly  of  the  mocking-bird.  We  are  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  one  of  these  birds  whom  for  several 
years  we  have  delighted  to  call  friend.  He  leaves  us  at  the 
approach  of  winter;  but  we  know  of  few  happier  moments  in 
the  following  spring  than  when  we  awake  on  a beautiful  morn- 
ing and  hear  his  first  greeting.  His  cat-cry,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, is  not  the  most  beautiful  sound  in  the  world;  but  the 
facetious  fellow  only  does  the  thing  for  sport,  just  as  well- 
educated  men  sometimes  make  use  of  cant  terms  and  popular 
phrases.  His  eye  has  a mischievous  twinkle  while  he  is  at  it, 
and  he  laughs  in  his  feathers  at  the  simpleton  who  thinks  him 
in  earnest.  He  is  our  feathered  Charles  Lamb. 

The  song  of  the  brown  thrush  is  generally  preferred  to  that 
of  the  robin;  but  the  robin  is  our  Chaucer.  There  is  such  a 
simple  gladness  in  his  morning  notes — he  pours  forth  his  song 
with  such  zealous  and  hearty  good-will  that  we  can  not  refuse 
him  this  title.  He  resembles  Chaucer  too  in  the  fact  that  his 
strains  form  a prelude  to  the  general  burst  of  harmony  in  spring. 
He  is  the  “ mornmg-star  ” of  bird  poetry,  as  Chaucer  is  of  the 
English. 


254 


AMERICAN  SONGSTERS. 


But  we  hear  the  numerous  tribe  of  warblers  — the  genus 
sylvia — all  clamorous  to  be  heard.  Here  is  the  little  indigo- 
bird,  rattling  away  with  its  busy  song,  not  of  the  most  elevated 
kind,  but  still  pleasing.  He  is  the  bird  Anacreon,  who  makes 
no  pretensions  to  any  deep  feeling,  and  is  too  careless  even  to 
laugh  at  the  manifestation  of  deep  feeling  in  others.  But  leave 
we  him  to  listen  to  the  delicious  notes  of  the  bluebird,  our  little 
bird-angel,  whom  we  love  as  we  love  the  sunshine  or  the  blue 
sky.  The  notes  of  this  favorite  bird  of  ours  are  few,  but  they 
are  notes  from  heaven.  On  a warm  day  in  spring,  when  the 
earth  is  about  to  burst  out  in  its  song  of  flowers,  when  the  mild 
air  itself  seems  to  be  music  from  the  blue  sky,  then  our  little 
warbler  opens  his  throat  and  Nature  herself  sings  in  his  voice. 
His  notes  are  few,  for  there  are  few  such  notes  to  be  found  in 
the  stores  of  harmony.  Those  few  notes  speak  of  other  climes 

* ‘ Where  the  emerald  fields  are  of  dazzling  glow, 

And  the  flowers  of  everlasting  blow.” 

His  notes  affect  us  like  the  poetry  of  Spenser,  and,  though  his 
song  is  so  short,  he  is  our  Spenser  of  the  grove. 

We  will  only  mention  here  our  feathered  Wordsworth,  the 
Baltimore  oriole;  our  Hemans,  the  dove;  our  Aristophanes,  the 
bob-o-linkum,  without  referring  to  our  other  feathered  poetical 
friends  innumerable. 

“And  now  wouldst  thou,  O man,  delight  the  ear 
With  earth’s  delicious  sounds,  or  charm  the  eye 
With  beautiful  creations  ? Then  pass  forth 
And  find  them  midst  those  many-colored  birds 
That  fill  the  glowing  woods.  The  richest  hues 
Lie  in  their  splendid  plumage,  and  their  tones 
Are  sweeter  than  the  music  of  the  lute, 

Or  the  harp’s  melody,  or  the  notes  that  gush 
So  thrillingly  from  Beauty’s  ruby  lip.” 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 


POPE  brought  the  art  of  versification  to  the  highest  degree 
of  elegance.  In  his  hands  the  heroic  couplet  received  such 
a degree  of  polish  that  it  dazzled  the  sight  of  the  poet’s  con- 
temporaries and  successors.  The  world  seemed  to  think  there 
had  never  been  a poet  before.  “ The  varying  verse,  the  full  re- 
sounding line,”  seemed  to  be  the  highest  effort  of  human  genius. 
But  the  very  admiration  excited  by  Pope’s  refined  versification 
led  to  a depreciation  of  his  merits.  Whole  tribes  of  versifiers 
began  to  write  heroic  couplets  in  imitation  of  Pope.  The  public 
became  surfeited.  Pope’s  verses  had  something  in  them  more 
than  sound,  but  his  imitators  produced  nothing  but  sound. 
Mr.  Lover  tells  a story  of  a contest  between  a Frenchman  and 
an  Irishman  concerning  the  merits  of  their  respective  countries. 
The  Frenchman,  to  illustrate  the  excellence  of  his  countrymen 
in  the  fine  arts,  pointed  to  his  beautiful  ruffles.  “ O yes,”  said 
the  Hibernian,  “but  we  have  made  an  improvement  upon  that; 
we  attach  a shirt  to  the  ruffles.”  Most  of  Pope’s  imitators  had 
nothing  but  the  ruffles.  The  world  began  to  find  out  that  all 
this  fine  versification  might  exist  without  any  poetry.  The  idea 
then  suggested  itself  to  some  that  Pope  himself  might  not  be  a 
poet.  But,  in  the  language  of  Hazlitt,  the  question  “ is  hardly 
worth  settling;  for,  if  he  was  not  a great  poet,  he  must  have 
been  a great  prose-writer,  that  is,  he  was  a great  writer  of  some 
sort.” 

But  Pope  was  a poet;  not  one  of  the  “grand  old  masters,” 
it  is  true,  but  still  a poet.  He  was  not  a Shakespeare,  a Spenser, 
or  a Milton,  but  among  the  first  of  another  order  of  poets.  He 
never  “passed  the  flammg  bounds  of  space,”  nor  “held  con- 

(25s) 


256 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 


verse  with  the  stars,”  but  he  created  many  beauties  in  his  little 
garden.  He  could  not  even  appreciate  the  very  highest  kind 
of  poetry.  The  majestic  simplicity  of  Homer  he  could  not 
understand.  He  has  stripped  the  Greek  bard  of  his  flowing 
robe  and  dressed  him  with  a powdered  wig  and  ruffles.  The 
translation  is  “ Pope's  Homer.”  It  is  said  that  once  when  Dr. 
Bentley  and  Pope  met  at  dinner  at  Dr.  Mead’s,  Pope,  anxious 
to  obtain  Dr.  Bentley’s  opinion  of  the  translation,  said  to  him, 
“Dr.  Bentley,  I ordered  my  bookseller  to  send  you  your  books; 
I hope  you  received  them.”  “Books!  books!”  said  Bentley, 
“what  books?”  “ My  Homer,”  replied  Pope,  “which  you  did 
me  the  honor  to  subscribe  for.”  “O!  ” said  Bentley;  “ay,  now 
I recollect — your  translation.  It  is  a pretty  poem,  Mr.  Pope; 
but  you  must  not  call  it  Homer.”  Macaulay  wittily  says  that 
the  word  translated  can  not  be  applied  to  the  work  except  in  the 
sense  in  which  Peter  Quince  uses  it  in  “Midsummer  Night’s 
Dream,”  when  Nick  Bottom  makes  his  appearance  with  an  ass’s 
head  instead  of  his  own — “Bless  thee,  Bottom!”  exclaims  he, 
“bless  thee!  thou  art  translated.”  Pope  could  not  translate 
Homer;  few  modern  poets  could.  One  of  the  writers  of  the 
old  ballads  in  Percy’s  Reliques  could  have  done  better.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  would  have  done  better.  Our  modern  poets  are 
generally  too  fond  of  ornament  to  translate  Homer.  They 
would  encumber  a beautiful  Greek  statue  with  silken  orna- 
ments. Cowper,  for  instance,  says  “serenest  lymph,”  when 
Homer,  if  he  had  used  the  English  language,  would  have  said 
pure  water . 

But  notwithstanding  all  that  may  be  said  about  his  Homer, 
Pope  wrote  poetry  that  will  endure  as  long  as  the  English  lan- 
guage lasts.  He  was  not  one  of  those 

“Who  in  the  love  of  nature  hold 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms.” 


but  he  could 


“Shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise.” 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 


257 


Some  would  be  surprised  to  find  how  many  of  their  standard 
quotations  — their  “ household  words  ” — are  from  the  writings 
of  Pope.  We  could  present  almost  any  number  of  lines  famil- 
iar to  every  one,  all  from  Pope.  Many  a one  without  preten- 
sions to  literature,  who  has  never  read  Pope,  would  be  surprised 
on  taking  up  his  works  at  the  number  of  familiar  faces  he  would 
meet  with.  Take,  for  instance,  the  Rape  of  the  Lock,  and  we 
have  at  the  beginning  such  lines  as  these : 

On  her  white  breast  a sparkling  cross  she  wore 

Which  Jews  might  kiss  and  infidels  adore. 

Favors  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends; 

Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 

If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face  and  you  ’ll  forget  them  all. 

At  every  word  a reputation  dies. 

Here  thou,  great  Anna,  whom  three  realms  obey, 

Dost  sometimes  counsel  take,  and  sometimes  tea. 

Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins  the  soul. 

There  Affectation,  with  a sickly  mien, 

Shows  in  her  cheeks  the  roses  of  eighteen. 

Wretches  hang  that  jurymen  may  dine. 

Bright  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike ; 

And  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

The  work  from  which  these  extracts  are  taken  is  acknowl- 
edged by  all  to  be  the  most  exquisite  poem  of  its  kind  in 
existence.  It  is  absolutely  perfect — a gem  that  sparkles  from 
every  point  of  view.  After  the  publication  of  the  first  edition, 
Addison  considered  it  complete,  and  tried  to  dissuade  Pope 
from  introducing  the  Rosicrucian  mythology,  fearing  that  any 
attempt  at  improvement  might  injure  the  poem.  And  yet  how 
much  beauty  has  been  added  to  that  which  seemed  already 
perfect! 

Of  the  Essay  on  Criticism  Dr.  Johnson  says:  “If  he  had 
written  nothing  else,  it  would  have  placed  him  among  the  first 


22 


258 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 


critics  and  the  first  poets,  as  it  exhibits  every  mode  of  excel- 
lence that  can  embellish  or  dignify  didactic  composition,  selec- 
tion of  matter,  novelty  of  arrangement,  justness  of  precept, 
splendor  of  illustration,  and  propriety  of  digression/’  This 
may  seem  extravagant  praise;  but  every  one  who  reads  the 
work  will  admit  that  in  general  it  is  deserved.  Some  of  the 
rules  of  criticism  are  perhaps  too  narrow,  but  this  defect  will 
be  overlooked  by  those  who  read  the  work  in  a true  spirit. 
The  poem  is  like  the  poet’s  Belinda: 

If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face  and  you  ’ll  forget  them  all. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  JUDAH. 


NE  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  the  Hebrew 


bards  is  their  intense  power  of  vision.  They  are  seers. 
Their  eyes  are  opened,  and  they  see.  The  mountain-side,  which 
to  the  eyes  of  others  is  bare,  to  their  sight  is  covered  with 
horses  and  chariots  of  fire.  They  see  not  the  shadows  of 
coming  events,  but  the  events  themselves.  The  lifeless  ab- 
stractions of  the  intellect  appear  before  them  glowing  in  the 
hues  of  life.  A nation  to  them  is  not  a cold  abstraction,  but  a 
living,  sentient  being.  They  do  not  speak  of  the  Jewish  nation, 
but  of  the  Daughter  of  Judah.  Instead  of  an  abstract  idea  of 
the  nation,  they  see  a lovely  woman  to  whom  the  interests  of 
the  people  are  intrusted,  and  the  seer  asks  her,  “ Where  is  the 
flock  that  was  given  thee,  thy  beautiful  flock  ?” 

44 Where  is  the  flock  that  zvas  given  thee , thy  beautiful  flock?” 


Daughter  of  Judah!  once  in  pride 
Thou  sat’st  upon  thy  lofty  throne 
Bedecked  with  jewels,  like  a bride, 

The  delicate  and  comely  one ! 

And  in  the  waving  palm-tree’s  shade 
Was  heard  thy  harp’s  exulting  strain; 
Jehovah’s  flock  around  thee  played 
And  bounded  o’er  the  flowery  plain. 

Daughter  of  Judah!  where  is  now 
The  glory  that  around  thee  shone? 

Where  are  the  gems  that  graced  thy  brow? 
Where  is  thy  proud  and  lofty  throne? 


(259) 


26o 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  JUDAH. 


Where  is  the  harp  whose  glad  tones  broke 
The  stillness  of  the  balmy  air? 

Where  is  the  flock,  the  lovely  flock, 

Jehovah  trusted  to  thy  care? 

Daughter  of  Judah!  sad  and  lone 

Thou  sit’st  in  sackcloth  on  the  ground; 

The  woods  are  vocal  with  thy  moan, 

The  distant  hills  thy  groans  resound. 

The  harp  from  which  sweet  music  gushed, 

As  gushed  the  stream  ’neath  Horeb’s  brow, 

That  harp  of  thine,  decayed  and  crushed, 
Hangs  voiceless  on  the  willow’s  bough. 

Thou  seest  no  flock  around  thee  play; 

All,  all  the  lovely  ones  are  gone ; 

Scattered  in  distant  lands  they  stray — 
Daughter  of  Judah,  still  weep  on! 


THE  BLUEBIRD. 


THOUGH  Winter’s  power  fades  away, 

The  tyrant  does  not  yield; 

But  still  he  holds  a waning  sway 
O’er  hill  and  grove  and  field. 

But  while  he  still  is  lingering 
Some  lovely  days  appear — 

Bright  heralds  from  the  train  of  Spring 
To  tell  that  she  is  near. 

It  is  as  if  a day  of  heaven 
Had  fallen  from  on  high, 

And  God’s  own  smiles,  for  sunlight  given, 
Were  beaming  through  the  sky. 

The  bluebird  now  with  joyous  note 
His  song  of  triumph  sings; 

Joy  swells  melodious  in  his  throat, 

Joy  quivers  in  his  wings. 

No  cunning  show  of  art  severe, 

But  soft  and  low  his  lay — 

A sunbeam  shining  to  the  ear, 

Spring’s  softest,  brightest  ray. 

Those  magic  tones  call  from  the  past 
The  sunny  hours  of  youth; 

And  shining  hopes  come  thronging  fast 
From  worlds  of  love  and  truth. 

The  harmony  is  seen  and  heard ; 

For  notes  and  rays  combine, 

And  joys  and  hopes  and  sun  and  bird 
All  seem  to  sing  and  shine. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


IN  the  Kensal  Green  Cemetery,  near  London,  may  be  seen 
a monument  which  on  one  side  shows  a bas-relief  repre- 
senting a conscience-smitten  man  looking  at  some  boys  engaged 
in  play,  and  on  the  opposite  side  another  bas-relief  representing 
some  men  tenderly  lifting  the  body  of  a woman.  Near  the 
upper  part  of  the  monument  is  the  legend,  “ He  sang  the  Song 
of  the  Shirt/’  and  on  the  top  is  the  bust  of  a man  whose  life 
was  one  long  disease,  and  who  ceased  to  die  only  a few  days 
before  his  body  was  placed  under  the  ground  on  which  this 
monument  stands,  but  who  manfully  struggled  and  labored  to 
the  last,  showing 

“How  sublime  a thing  it  is 
To  suffer  and  be  strong!” 

Thomas  Hood  was  born  on  the  23d  of  May,  1799.  The 
sudden  death  of  his  father,  who  was  a bookseller  of  cultivated 
taste,  left  the  family  in  straitened  circumstances,  and  Thomas, 
at  the  age  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  was  apprenticed  to  his  uncle, 
Mr.  Robert  Sands,  to  learn  the  business  of  an  engraver.  At 
this  business  he  spent  some  years,  but  the  sedentary  employ- 
ment was  injurious  to  his  health,  which  had  always  been  delb 
cate,  and  he  was  sent  to  some  relatives  in  Scotland,  with  whom 
he  remained  two  years. 

While  he  was  in  Scotland  he  contributed  some  verses  to  a 
Dundee  magazine.  After  his  return  he  followed  the  business 
of  engraving  for  a short  time;  but  a more  congenial  employ- 
ment soon  offered  itself.  Mr.  John  Scott,  the  editor  of  the 
“ London  Magazine,”  having  been  killed  in  a duel,  that  peri- 
(262) 


THOMAS  HOOD.  263 

odical  passed  into  the  hands  of  two  of  Hood’s  friends,  who 
engaged  him  as  a kind  of  sub-editor. 

In  this  magazine  he  published  twenty-five  or  thirty  pieces, 
and  through  his  connection  with  it  became  acquainted  with 
Charles  Lamb,  T.  N.  Talfourd,  Horace  Smith,  William  Hazlitt, 
and  other  literary  persons. 

On  the  5th  of  May,  1824,  he  married  Jane  Reynolds,  daugh- 
ter of  the  head  writing-master  at  Christ’s  Hospital,  a noble 
woman,  as  all  who  have  read  the  “ Memorials”*  know.  Her 
daughter  says:  “In  spite  of  all  the  sickness  and  sorrow  that 
formed  the  greatest  portion  of  the  after-part  of  their  lives,  the 
union  was  a happy  one.  My  mother  was  a woman  of  culti- 
vated mind  and  literary  tastes,  and  well  suited  to  him  as  a 
companion.  He  had  such  confidence  in  her  judgment  that 
he  read,  and  re-read,  and  corrected  with  her  all  that  he  wrote.” 
Mrs.  Balmanno,  who  was  intimate  with  them,  says : “ She  per- 
fectly adored  her  husband,  tending  him  like  a child,  whilst  he 
with  unbounded  affection  seemed  to  delight  to  yield  himself  to 
her  guidance.” 

In  1826  appeared  the  first  series  of  “Whims  and  Oddities,” 
which  were  so  favorably  received  that  a second  edition  was 
soon  published.  In  1827  a second  series  appeared,  dedicated 
to  Sir  Walter  Scott.  This  work  was  followed  by  two  volumes 
of  “National  Tales.”  “The  Plea  of  the  Midsummer  Fairies” 
appeared  in  1827. 

In  the  winter  of  1827-28  Hood  had  a very  severe  attack  of 
rheumatic  fever,  and  on  his  recovery  he  was  ordered  to  Brigh- 
ton to  recruit  his  strength.  He  was  so  weak  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  lift  him  into  the  coach  at  starting;  but  the  sea  air 
improved  his  health  as  much  as  so  frail  a thing  could  be 
improved  by  any  means. 

In  1829  appeared  “The  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram”  in  an 


* Memorials  of  Thomas  Hood.  Collected,  arranged,  and  edited  by  his  daughter. 
With  a preface  and  notes  by  his  son.  A new  and  revised  edition.  London : E. 
Moxon,  Son  & Co.,  1869. 


264 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


annual  called  “The  Gem/’  of  which  Hood  was  at  that  time 
editor.  In  the  same  year  he  removed  from  London  to  a pretty 
cottage  on  Winchmore  Hill,  where  he  resided  about  three  years. 
Here  his  daughter  was  born. 

In  1830  the  first  “Comic  Annual”  appeared.  This  was 
dedicated  to  Sir  Francis  Freeling,  for  whom  Hood  had  the 
greatest  regard  on  account  of  the  reforms  he  effected  in  post- 
age, and  who  was  the  godfather  of  his  daughter,  Frances  Free- 
ling Hood.  The  dedication  was  as  follows : 

To  SIR  FRANCIS  FREELING,  Bart. 

The  Great  Patron  of  Letters,  Foreign,  General,  and  Twopenny ; 
distinguished  alike  for  his  fostering  care  of  the 
Bell  Letters; 

And  his  antiquarian  regard  for  the 
Dead  Letters; 

Whose  increasing  efforts  to  forward  the  spread  of  intelligence,  as 
Corresponding  Member  of  All  Societies  (and  no 
man  fills  his  Post  better)  have 

Singly,  Doubly,  and  Trebly 

Endeared  him  to  every  class,  this  first  volume  of  “The  Annual”  is, 
with  Frank  permission,  gratefully  inscribed  by 

Thomas  Hood. 

Hood  sent  copies  of  the  work  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire, 
and  received  the  following  letter  of  thanks,  dated  London, 
February  8,  1831: 

Sir:  Accept  my  best  thanks  for  the  beautiful  copies  of  the  “Comic 
Annual”  which  I have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  from  you;  you 
could  not  have  selected  a person  who  has  enjoyed  more  the  perusal  of 
your  works. 

I am  almost  afraid  of  making  the  following  request ; but  perhaps  it 
may  be  as  amusing  as  it  must  be  easy  to  you  to  comply  with  it,  in  which 
case  alone  I beg  you  to  do  it. 

It  is  necessary  to  construct  a door  of  sham  books,  for  the  entrance  of 
a library  at  Chatsworth;  your  assistance  in  giving  me  inscriptions  for 
these  unreal  folios,  quartos,  and  i2mos  is  what  I now  ask. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


One  is  tired  of  the  “Plain  Dealings,”  “Essays  on  Wood,”  and  “Per- 
petual Motion”  on  such  doors.  On  one  I have  seen  “Don  Quixote’s 
Library,”  and  on  others  impossibilities,  such  as  “Virgilii  Odaria,” 
“Herodoti  Poemata,”  “Byron’s  Sermons,”  &c.,  &c. ; but  from  you  I 
venture  to  hope  for  more  attractive  titles — at  your  perfect  leisure  and 
convenience.  I have  the  honour  to  be,  sir,  with  many  excuses, 

Your  sincere  humble  servant,  Devonshire. 

Among  the  titles  sent  to  the  Duke  are  the  following: 

Percy  Vere.  In  40  volumes. 

Lamb  on  the  Death  of  Wolfe. 

Tadpoles ; or  Tales  out  of  my  own  Head. 

McAdam’s  Views  in  Rhodes. 

Spenser,  with  Chaucer’s  Tales. 

The  Life  of  Zimmermann.  By  Himself. 

Pygmalion.  By  Lord  Bacon. 

Mackintosh,  MacCulloch,  and  Macaulay  on  Almacks. 

Rules  for  Punctuation.  By  a Thorough-bred  Pointer. 

Chronological  Account  of  the  Date-tree. 

Book-keeping  by  Single  Entry. 

Kosciusko  on  the  Right  of  the  Poles  to  stick  up  for  Themselves. 

Voltaire,  Volna,  Volta.  3 vols. 

Elegy  on  a Black-Cock,  shot  amongst  the  Moors.  By  W.  Wilberforce. 

Cursory  Remarks  on  Swearing. 

Chantrey  on  the  Sculpture  of  the  Chipaway  Indians. 

Hoyle  on  the  Game  Laws. 

The  Duke  was  well  pleased  with  the  titles,  as  is  shown  in 
the  following  letter: 

Sir  : I am  more  obliged  to  you  than  I can  say  for  my  titles.  They 
are  exactly  what  I wanted,  and  invented  in  that  vein  of  humor  which 
has  in  your  works  caused  me  and  many  of  my  friends  so  much  amuse- 
ment and  satisfaction. 

I shall  anxiously  await  the  promised  additions ; but  I hope  that  on 
my  return  to  London  you  will  allow  me  an  opportunity  of  thanking  you 
in  person.  There  is  hardly  any  day  on  which  you  would  not  find  me  at 
home  at  twelve  o’clock,  and  after  the  13th  of  this  month  I shall  be  set- 
tled in  London.  I have  the  honour,  Sir,  to  be 

Most  truly  and  sincerely  yours,  Devonshire. 

The  Duke  was  a firm  friend  to  Hood  during  the  poet’s  life, 
doing  him  many  favors,  such  as  voluntarily  lending  him  money 

23 


266 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


when  he  was  in  a difficulty.  In  a letter  to  His  Grace,  asking 
permission  to  dedicate  “Tylney  Hall”  to  him,  Hood  says:  “I 
hesitate  to  intrude  with  details;  but  I know  the  goodness  which 
originated  one  obligation  will  be  gratified  to  learn  that  the 
assistance  referred  to  has  been,  and  is,  of  the  greatest  service 
in  a temporary  struggle — though  arduous  enough  to  one  of  a 
profession  never  overburdened  with  wealth,  from  Homer  down- 
wards. Indeed  the  Nine  Muses  seem  all  to  have  lived  in  one 
house  for  the  sake  of  cheapness.” 

“The  Comic  Annual”  for  1831  was  dedicated  to  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire. 

“The  Comic  Annual”  for  1832  was  dedicated  by  permission 
to  King  William  IV.,  who,  after  receiving  a copy  of  the  work, 
invited  the  author  to  visit  him.  Hood  was  much  taken  with 
His  Majesty’s  cordial  manner.  On  leaving  the  royal  presence 
he  backed  to  the  wrong  door.  The  king  laughed  and  con- 
ducted him  to  the  right  door. 

In  1832  he  removed  to  Lake  House,  Wanstead.  During 
his  residence  there  he  wrote  his  novel,  “Tylney  Hall,”  much 
of  the  scenery  described  in  it  being  that  of  Wanstead  and  its 
neighborhood. 

At  the  end  of  1834  he  suffered  a very  heavy  loss  by  the 
failure  of  a firm.  In  a letter  giving  a statement  of  his  affairs 
he  says:  “In  this  extremity,  had  he  listened  to  the  majority  of 
his  advisers,  he  would  at  once  have  absolved  himself  of  his 
obligations  by  one  or  other  of  those  sharp  but  sure  remedies 
which  the  legislature  has  provided  for  all  such  evils.  But  a 
sense  of  honor  forbade  such  a course,  and  emulating  the  illus- 
trious example  of  Sir  W alter  Scott  he  determined  to  try  whether 
he  could  not  score  off  his  debts  as  effectually  and  more  credita- 
bly with  his  pen  than  with  legal  whitewash  or  a wet  sponge.” 
For  the  sake  of  economy  he  determined  to  leave  England  and 
to  live  on  the  Continent,  believing  that  living  there  was  less 
expensive  than  in  England. 

After  the  birth  of  a son,  January  19,  1835,  Mrs.  Hood  was 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


267 


so  dangerously  ill  that  her  life  was  for  some  time  despaired  of. 
When  she  had  partially  recovered  Hood  left  her,  she  being  to 
follow  as  soon  as  she  should  be  able  to  bear  the  fatigue  of  trav- 
eling. In  the  “ Memorials”  are  found  some  beautifully  affec- 
tionate letters  which  he  wrote  from  Coblenz  to  his  wife. 

He  remained  at  Coblenz  for  more  than  two  years,  writing, 
in  the  midst  of  intense  sufferings,  “ Up  the  Rhine  ” and  other 
works  that  convulsed  the  public  with  laughter.  As  he  felt 
himself  under  the  necessity  of  constant  labor,  there  was  little 
chance  of  amending  his  health;  and  the  feeling  that  disease 
prevented  him  from  doing  as  much  as  he  was  anxious  to  do 
added  mental  to  physical  suffering.  But  notwithstanding  his 
sufferings  he  maintained  a remarkable  degree  of  cheerfulness. 
His  letters  to  his  friends  abound  in  puns  and  accounts  of  prac- 
tical jokes  and  ludicrous  occurrences. 

Referring  to  their  ignorance  of  German,  Mrs.  Hood  writes 
from  Coblenz  to  her  friend,  Mrs.  Elliot: 

I regret  very  much  that  I can  not  converse  with  one  of  our  landlady’s 
daughters;  she  has  such  a sweet  voice,  so  pretty  a face,  that  Hood  is  quite 
in  love  with  her;  but  fortunately  he  can  not  declare  himself.  Female 
beauty,  or  even  prettiness,  is  a rarity  at  Coblenz.  A miller’s  daughter,  a 
mile  off,  is  the  paragon ; Hood  calls  her  the  “ Flour.”  They  say  she  is 
well  educated  too.  I mean,  if  possible,  to  walk  out  and  see  her.  Strange 
to  say,  she  is  single. 

Joe  Miller  says , because  there  are  two  dams  to  ask  instead  of  one.* 

We  heard  of  her  through  a young  English  officer  in  the  Prussian  service 
here.  He  introduced  himself  to  us  during  our  evening  walk,  being  at- 
tracted by  our  King’s  English ; and  we  were  equally  by  his,  as  well  as  by 
his  dog,  which  seemed  home-made ; for  you  must  know  the  Coblenz  dogs 
are  remarkably  ugly  and  naturally  like  foxes ; but  after  the  first  warm 
summer  day  they  are  all  converted,  by  clipping  their  hinder  parts,  into 
mock  lions.  He  seemed  determined  to  know  us.  First  he  told"  Fanny, 
who  was  not  at  all  timid,  to  have  no  fear  of  his  dog,  who  was  not  at  all 
ferocious.  As  that  failed  to  lead  to  an  introduction,  he  walked  back  after 
us  and  introduced  himself.  In  truth  we  were  equally  glad  to  give  him 


*The  italicized  passage  is  an  interpolation  of  Hood’s.  When  his  wife  was  called 
off  from  any  letter  she  was  writing  Hood  delighted  to  interpolate  his  remarks  and  to 
observe  her  look  of  wonder  when  she  returned. 


267 


268 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


change  for  his  English,  which  he  declared  he  had  had  by  him  till  it  had 
become  burdensome.  He  has  since  called.  He  has  been  fourteen  years 
in  the  Prussian  service ; but  his  heart  seems  to  yearn  after  England  and 
his  family — his  mother  is  an  English  woman.  He  is  a very  nice,  unas- 
suming young  man.  As  he  is  stationed  at  Ehrenbreitstein,  he  has  offered 
some  day  to  help  us  to  scale  that  impregnable  fortress. 

Their  daughter  writes : 

My  father  found  in  M.  de  Franck  a very  pleasant  and  agreeable  friend, 
and  a great  help  in  all  difficulties  of  German  usage  and  language.  He 
was  his  constant  companion  in  all  his  fishing  rambles  and  excursions,  and 
used  to  drop  in,  in  a quiet  friendly  way,  of  an  evening,  and  play  crib- 
bage  with  my  father  and  mother.  They  made  the  merriest  and  cosiest 
little  party  imaginable,  generally  finishing  with  some  dainty  treat  of  Eng- 
lish cookery  for  supper.  During  my  mother’s  enforced  absences  to  super- 
intend the  cooking  of  these  little  edibles  the  “ tw*o  knaves”  took  the 
opportunity  of  changing  her  cards,  moving  her  pegs,  &c.,  secretly  de- 
lighted at  her  puzzles  and  wonderings  on  her  return.  On  these  occasions 
my  father  generally  kept  them  in  a continual  laugh  by  his  flow  of  witty 
anecdotes  and  jokes. 

The  following  anecdotes,  related  in  a letter  from  Mrs.  Hood 
to  Mrs.  Elliot,  will  show  on  what  familiar  terms  these  three 
amiable  persons  associated: 

So  much  for  Hood’s  New  Year’s  eve.  I must  now  tell  you  my  story 
about  the  Christmas  pudding.  The  Lieutenant  [De  Franck  ] was  with 
us  on  Christmas  day,  and  enjoyed  my  plum  - pudding  so  much  that  I 
promised  to  make  one  for  him.  Hood  threatened  to  play  some  tricks 
with  it — either  to  pop  in  bullets  or  tenpenny  nails ; and  I watched  over 
my  work  with  great  vigilance,  so  that  it  was  put  in  to  boil  without  any 
misfortune.  I went  to  bed  early,  telling  Gradle  [the  servant]  to  put  it, 
when  done,  in  the  drawing-room  till  the  morning.  Hood  was  writing, 
and  he  says  it  was  put  down  smoking  under  his  very  nose,  and  the  spirit 
of  mischief  was  irresistible.  I 1 ad  bought  a grosclien’s  worth  of  new 
white  wooden  skewers  that  very  morning.  He  cut  them  a little  shorter 
than  the  pudding’s  diameter  and  po  ed  them  in  across  and  across  in  all 
directions  so  neatly  that  I never  perceived  any  sign  of  them  when  I 
packed  and  sealed  it  up  the  next  day  for  De  Franck’s  man  to  carry  over 
to  Ehrenbreitstein.  He  came  to  thank  me,  and  praised  it  highly.  I find 
that  while  I was  out  of  the  room  Hood  asked  him  if  it  was  not  well 
trussed,  and  he  answered  “Yes”  so  gravely  that  Hood  thought  he  was 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


269 


meditating  some  joke  in  retaliation,  and  was  on  his  guard.  At  the  ball  the 
truth  came  out — he  actually  thought  it  was  some  new  method  of  making 
plum-puddings,  and  gave  me  credit  for  the  wood-work.  He  had  invited 
two  of  his  brother  officers  to  lunch  upon  it,  and  Hood  wanted  to  per- 
suade me  that  the  “Cardinal”  officer  had  swallowed  one  of  the  skewers! 
Now  was  not  this  an  abominable  trick? 

Her  son  says  in  a note: 

And  nearly  succeeded  in  doing  so  [in  persuading  her],  innocently 
assisted  by  the  officer  in  question,  with  whom  the  pudding  had  not  alto- 
gether agreed.  As  he  did  not  speak  English,  and  my  mother  was  not  yet 
up  in  German,  a pantomime  ensued  on  his  part  expressive  of  indigestion, 
but  construed  by  my  father  as  descriptive  of  the  agonies  of  an  internal 
skewer. 

Referring  to  an  excursion  made  by  her  and  her  husband  to 
Metternich,  Mrs.  Hood  writes : 

That  was  our  last  excursion  from  home  till  we  went  to  the  Lurlei ; for 
Hood,  getting  better,  set  to  work — it  was  then  “all  work  and  no  play,” 
but  I do  not  recollect  seeing  him  get  through  it  better — he  finished  with 
good  spirits,  and  boiled  over  afterwards  with  some  droll  sketches  for  the 
work  I told  you  of  [“Up  the  Rhine”].  Talking  of  boiling,  I must  in 
self-conceit  say  that  I am  improving  decidedly  in  my  cooking,  having 
started  several  things  “in  the  fancy  line.”  Yesterday  morning  I set  to 
work  very  seriously  to  make  some  potted  beef,  and  succeeded,  little  think- 
ing what  ungrateful  jests  I should  draw  on  my  poor  head  from  Hood. 
Being  proud  of  my  own  fabrication,  I produced  it  at  tea,  when  De  Franck 
came,  and  then  commenced  the  jokes  of  the  good-for-nothing.  He  asked 
with  apparent  interest  how  it  was  made,  and  I said,  “I  pounded  it  with 
a pestle  and  mortar.”  “ But  then,  dear,  we  have  not  got  one,  you  know.” 
In  short,  he  insisted  that,  like  the  Otalieitan  cooks,  I had  chewed  it  small ; 
and  as  I happened,  having  the  face-ache,  to  put  my  hand  to  my  jaw  at 
the  time,  it  seemed  a corroboration,  of  which  he  made  full  use.  Upon 
this  hint  he  huddled  joke  upon  joke  till  we  were  convulsed  with  laugh- 
ter; and  to-day  Franck  declares  he  laughed  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 
Hood  called  it  “Bullock  Jam,”  and  when  I asked  him  what  he  would 
eat  he  replied,  “What  you  chews.” 

In  October,  1836,  De  Franck’s  regiment,  the  Nineteenth 
Polish  Infantry,  was  ordered  to  Bromberg,  and  Hood  was  asked 
by  De  Franck  and  the  other  officers  of  the  regiment  to  “ march 


270 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


with  them.  The  Colonel,  who  had  translated  his  Eugene  Aram 
into  German,  sent  him  a handsome  message  and  invitation. 
De  Franck  advised  him  to  buy  a horse,  which  when  he  should 
wish  to  return  he  could  sell  it  and  travel  by  diligence . As  he 
could  not  start  with  the  regiment,  De  Franck  took  the  horse 
with  him,  an  arrangement  having  been  made  that  they  should 
meet  at  or  near  Eisenach.  At  Langen  Seltzers  he  suffered  so 
much  during  the  night  that  "he  could  not  venture  to  go  on 
horseback,  and  an  arrangement  was  made  that  he  should  join 
the  regiment  at  Halle,  if  he  should  become  well  enough.  He 
did  join  the  regiment  at  Halle,  and  greatly  enjoyed  his  “march.” 
In  his  letters  to  his  wife,  Mr.  Dilke,  editor  of  the  Athenaeum, 
and  Mr.  Wright,  the  engraver,  he  gives  pleasing  accounts  of 
his  journey,  more  pleasing  indeed  than  the  more  formal  account 
in  “Up  the  Rhine.”  He  writes  to  Mrs.  Hood: 

I rose  with  the  larks,  was  well  up  to  my  time,  marched  to  the  muster, 
mounted  my  nag,  and  here  I am,  at  a quarter  past  one,  writing  to  you, 
after  completing  not  only  my  first  march  but  a hearty  dinner.  Luck 
turned  at  last ; for  I rose  without  any  pain  for  the  first  time,  and  conse- 
quently in  good  spirits.  I am  delighted  with  my  nag.  Franck  has  got 
him  into  such  excellent  order,  I was  only  off  him  twice,  but  thank  good- 
ness without  hurting  myself,  as  it  was  merely  dismounting  according  to 
the  regular  mode  when  we  halted.  Tell  Fanny  he  walks  after  Franck 
and  knows  him  like  a dog.  I expect  to  be  equally  good  friends  with  him, 
by  feeding  him  with  bread.  Fanny  herself  might  ride  him,  and  I only 
fear  I shall  be  sorry  to  part  with  him  at  last.  I rode  so  well  as  to  pass 
muster  for  a trooper,  and  did  the  turnpikes.  At  one  village  a man  said, 
“There  goes  the  doctor!”  ...  I did  wish  you  could  have  gone  with 
us ; the  first  halt  was  very  amusing,  such  miscellaneous  breakfasting ; 
and  a boy  with  a large  tin  of  hot  sausages  sold  all  off  in  a minute  to  his 
surprise,  and  a regret  that  he  did  not  bring  a whole  barrow  full.  The 
Colonel  passed  in  a carriage:  I did  not  see  him,  but  he  stopped  Franck 

to  ask  if  I was  there,  and  sent  his  compliments Franck  will 

write  to  you  next,  as  I shall  be  busy ; but  I determined  to  show  you 
to-day  by  a long  letter  how  well  I was  after  my  march.  I shall  also 
write  a few  lines  at  the  end  of  this  to  Fanny,  who,  I hope,  helps  and 
pleases  you  as  much  as  she  can.  If  the  Dilkes  are  not  gone,  give  my 
love  to  them,  and  say  all  that  is  kind.  I left  in  a sad  hurry  and  had  not 
even  time  to  thank  Mrs.  Dilke,  without  whom  I should  never  have  been 


THOMAS  HOOD.  2 7 I 

launched.*  Tell  her  I shall  be  as  grand  over  my  march  as  if  I had 
crossed  the  Simplon. 

. . . . We  rise  at  four,  and  march  about  five  or  half-past.  It  is 

moonlight  earlier,  but  then  becomes  dark;  so  I march  till  I can  see  the 
road  and  then  mount;  after  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour  we  halt  for 
a quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  on  again  to  the  general  rendezvous,  over- 
taking or  passing  other  companies  on  the  road ; for  we  are  quartered 
sometimes  widely  apart.  At  the  rendezvous  we  halt  and  breakfast — a 
sort  of  picnic — each  bringing  what  he  can : if  I had  been  searched  yes- 
terday, they  would  have  found  on  me  two  cold  pigeons  and  a loaf  split 
and  buttered.  I have  learned  to  forage,  and  always  clear  the  table  at  my 
quarters  into  my  pocket.  It  is  an  amusing  scene  when  we  sit  down  by 
the  roadside ; some  of  the  officers,  who  have  had  queer  quarters,  bring 
sketches  of  them ; one  the  other  day  had  such  a ruinous  house  for  his  that 
his  dog  stood  and  howled  at  it.  At  the  inn  at  Kremnitz  I had  dinner, 
supper,  bed,  and  breakfast  for  7 good  groschen,  about  1 1 pence ! . . . 

We  had  but  two  beds,  one  for  me,  and  one  for  Bonkowski,  and  Franck 
was  on  the  straw.  Thence  we  went  to  Schlunkendorf  (what  a name !) 
near  Belitz.  Quartered  at  a miller’s,  very  clean  and  wholesome,  but  only 
two  beds ; so  Franck  was  littered  down.  I wanted  the  host  to  give  him 
corn  [wheat]  instead  of  straw,  and  then  come  and  thrash  them  both  out 
together. 

From  Berlin  he  writes: 

The  country  round  Berlin  is  bitter  bad,  deep  sand,  almost  a desert : I 
do  n’t  wonder  the  great  Frederick  wanted  something  better.  Some  parts 
of  our  marches,  through  the  forests,  with  the  bugles  ringing,  were  quite 
romantic ; and  the  costume  of  the  villagers,  when  they  turned  out  to 
see  us  pass,  really  picturesque.  I have  made  five  marches,  and  am  not 
fatigued  to  speak  of.  I am  sworn  comrade  with  most  of  the  officers ; 
one  rough-looking  old  captain  told  me  that  when  we  got  to  Berlin  he 
should  have  his  Polish  cook,  and  then  he  should  ask  me  to  dinner,  prom- 
ising me  an  “ overgay  ” evening,  which  I shall  take  care  to  get  out  of. 
By  the  by,  when  we  were  at  the  burgomaster’s  I saw  said  captain  striding 
up  and  down  in  a great  fume  before  the  house ; it  turned  out  that  he  was 
to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  a man,  his  wife,  and  seven  children ! which 
he  declined.  Finally,  I believe,  he  was  put  in  the  schoolroom  in  an  ex- 


*They  had  paid  for  their  passage  in  the  coach  which  was  to  start  at  six  a.  m., 
the  servant  having  been  directed  to  call  them  at  four.  She  was  fast  asleep  when 
Hood  chanced  to  wake  at  half  past  five.  “ By  a miracle — I can  not  imagine  how — 
Mrs.  Dilke  helping,  we  somehow  got  Jane’s  bag  and  my  portmanteau  rammed  full, 
and  caught  the  coach  just  setting  off.” 


272 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


tempore  bed.  We  are  often  short  of  knives,  spoons,  and  forks,  but  the 
poor  creatures  do  their  best  and  cheerfully,  so  that  it  quite  relishes  the 
victuals.  I shake  their  hands  heartily  when  we  part. 

In  another  letter  from  Berlin  he  writes : 

My  dearest  love,  here  I am  safe  — but  my  marching  is  over!  The 
Prince  Radziwill  has  invited  Franck  to  stay  two  or  three  weeks  here;  so 
he  of  course  stays.  As  he  was  the  pretext  for  my  journey,  I can  not 
well  go  without  him. 

Four  or  five  days  afterward  he  writes: 

I have  been  very  busy  sight-seeing,  and  very  gay.  The  day  before 
yesterday  Franck  brought  me  an  invitation  from  Prince  William  Radziwill, 
the  head  of  the  family,  to  dine  with  him  at  three  o’clock.  I was  run  for 
time,  having  to  get  dress-boots,  &c.  ; and  to  crown  all,  a coach  ordered 
at  half-past  two  did  not  arrive  till  three,  nor  could  I make  them  under- 
stand to  get  another.  Thank  heaven,  the  dear  Princesses  were  long  in 
dressing ; for  it  would  have  been  awful  to  have  kept  them  waiting. 

They  say  no  man  is  a prophet  in  his  own  country,  and  here  literature 
came  in  for  its  honors.  The  Prince  introduced  me  himself  to  every  one 
of  his  family,  who  all  tried  to  talk  to  me,  most  of  them  speaking  English 
very  well.  Some  spoke  French  ; so  I got  on  very  well,  save  a little  deaf- 
ness. The  Prince  placed  me  himself  next  to  him  at  dinner,  on  his  right 
hand,  and  talked  with  me  continually  during  dinner,  telling  me  stories 
and  anecdotes,  &c.,  and  I tried  to  get  out  of  his  debt  by  some  of  mine. 
There  were  present  Prince  William,  Prince  Boguslaw  Radziwill,  Prince 
Adam  Czartoriski,  Prince  Edmund  Clary,  Count  Wildenbruch  (whom  I 
had  met  before),  Count  Lubienski,  Councillor  Michalski,  Hofrath  Kup- 
sach,  Captain  Crawford,  R.  N.,  Princess  Clary,  Princess  Felicia  Clary, 
Princess  Euphemia  Clary,  Princess  Boguslaw  Radziwill,  Princess  Wanda 
Czartoriski,  and  Miss  Von  Lange,  lady-in-waiting.  So  I was  in  august 
company.  (Franck  was  obliged  to  dine  at  the  Duke  of  Cumberland’s.) 
I was  quite  delighted  with  the  whole  family:  they  are  all  excellent.  I 
stayed  till  seven.  We  were  very  merry  after  dinner.  Franck  came  in, 
and  the  Princes  kept  telling  me  sporting  anecdotes  about  themselves  and 
him.  Prince  William  proposed  to  call  on  me  and  see  my  sketches,  but  I 
told  him  I had  none,  and  then  beggedhis  acceptance  of  my  books,  which  I 
am  to  send.  The  Princesses  asked  me  to  send  them  this  year’s  “Comic.” 
Both  the  Prince  Radziwills  shook  hands  with  me  at  parting.  ...  I 
have  more  particulars  to  tell  you  when  we  meet ; but  I knew  you  would  be 
pleased  to  hear  this.  The  Duke  of  Cumberland  asked  Franck  who  that 
gentleman  was  who  marched  with  his  regiment,  and  was  surprised  to  hear 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


273 


it  was  I ; he  had  been  told  it  was  an  officer.  Prince  George  spoke  in 
such  handsome  terms  of  me  that  I left  my  card  for  him.  . . . I do 

not  know  whether  I shall  see  any  of  the  Princes  again  before  I go ; but  I 
expect  I must  call  to  take  leave.  They  had  even  read  “Tylney  Hall!” 
. . . . Since  writing  the  above  I have  been  unwell,  and  could  not 

meet  Franck,  as  I promised,  at  the  Exhibition.  I think  principally  it 
arose  from  a sudden  change  in  the  weather,  from  really  severe  frost  to 

rain I have  seen  Franck,  however,  at  the  cafe  where  I dine, 

and  he  told  me  Prince  William  called  on  me  yesterday,  and  the  other 
Princes  to-day,  also  Count  Wildenbruch.  This  is  really  most  flattering 
attention.  I sent  to-day  to  one  of  the  Princes  a written  account  of 
Franck’s  tumble  into  the  Lahn,  which  I expect  will  make  them  laugh,  as 
I had  highly  embellished  it.  Franck  is  gone  again  to-night  to  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland’s.  We  meet  only  by  snatches. 

He  writes  to  De  Franck  after  his  return  to  Coblenz: 

“Tim,  says  he,”*  It  was  odd  enough  that  I should  have  my  accident 
too  as  if  to  persuade  me  that  German  eilwagens  are  the  most  dangerous 
vehicles  in  the  world — but  about  four  o’clock  on  the  third  morning,  after 
a great  “leap  in  the  dark,”  the  coach  turned  short  round,  and  brought 
up  against  the  rails  of  the  roadside;  luckily  they  were  strong,  or  we 
should  have  gone  over  a precipice.  There  we  were  on  the  top  of  a bleak 


* The  following  dialogue  between  an  improvident  Irishman,  who  is  opposed  to 
wasting  his  money  “on  old  musty  debts  or  any  such  nonsense,”  and  his  more  prudent 
servant  seems  to  have  tickled  the  fancy  of  Hood  and  his  friend  De  Franck.  They 
must  have  had  a great  laugh  over  it.  They  found  something  very  amusing,  as  was 
very  natural,  in  the  master’s  expressing  his  unwillingness  to  pay  his  debts  by  telling 
his  servant  to  hang  up  his  hat.  They  addressed  each  other  by  “Tim,  says  he,”  much 
more  frequently  than  by  their  own  names.  Sometimes  Hood,  and  sometimes  De 
Franck,  is  “Tim,  says  he,”  or  “Tim.”  They  seem  to  run  into  one  another  like 
Agnello  and  the  serpent  in  Dante.  The  name  “Johnny”  came  also  to  be  used  be- 
tween them. 

“Tim,”  says  he. 

“ Sir,”  says  he. 

“ Fetch  me  my  hat,”  says  he, 

“That  I may  go,”  says  he, 

“To  Timahoe,”  says  he, 

“And  go  to  the  fair,”  says  he, 

“ And  see  all  that ’s  there,’’  says  he. 

“ First  pay  what  you  owe,”  says  he, 

“ And  then  you  may  go,”  says  he, 

“ To  Timahoe,”  says  he, 

“ And  go  to  the  fair,”  says  he, 

“And  see  all  that's  there,”  says  he. 

“ Now  by  this  and  by  that,”  says  he, 

“ Tim,  hang  up  my  hat,”  says  he. 


274 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


hill,  the  pole  having  broken  short  off,  till  we  were  brought  by  beiwagens  to 
the  next  station,  where  a new  pole  was  made;  but  it  delayed  us  six  hours. 
Here  I got  the  first  of  my  cold,  for  the  weather  and  wind  were  keen ; the 
night  journey  from  Frankfort  to  Mayence  confirmed  it.  I could  not  help 
falling  asleep  from  cold.  So  I came  home  looking  well,  as  ruddy  as  ba- 
con ; but  the  very  next  day  turned  white  with  a dreadful  cough,  which 
ended  in  spitting  blood.  But  I sent  for  the  doctor,  was  bled,  and  it  was 
stopped;  but  I am  still  weak  To  make  things  better,  I had  not  sent 
enough  for  the  “Comic,”  and  was  obliged  to  set  to  work  again,  willy- 

nilly,  well  or  illy I found  all  well  at  home.  Tom  stared 

his  eyes  out  at  me,  almost,  and  for  two  days  would  scarcely  quit  my  lap. 
He  talks  and  sings  like  a parrot.  ....  Perhaps  my  painter  will 
come  out  early;  as  Jane  has  told  you  I am  to  be  “done  in  oil.”  I have 
no  news — how  should  I have?  for  I have  at  least  been  room- ridden.  I 
shall  take  to  my  rod  again  as  soon  as  the  season  begins ; but  I shall  miss 
you,  Johnny,  and  your  “wanting  in.”*  I must  promise  you  a better 
letter  next  time.  This  only  a brief  from, 

Dear  Johnny,  yours  ever  truly,  Johnny. 

Fanny  and  Tom  send  their  little  loves. 

He  set  himself  to  work  on  “Up  the  Rhine ” and  on  finishing 
the  “Comic  Annual”  for  the  year.  In  one  of  Mrs.  Hood’s 
letters  she  says: 

You  will  be  glad  to  hear  Hood  intends  seriously  to  study  German 
during  the  winter,  and  I do  n’t  mean  to  let  his  purpose  cool.  He  talks 
of  seeing  more  of  Germany  in  the  spring.  [“Here,”  says  his  daughter, 
“my  father  seems  to  have  been  at  his  old  tricks  again  of  embellishing  my 
mother’s  letters,  for  there  follows  in  his  own  handwriting”]  : At  present 
Germany  has  seen  him.  As  at  Berlin  there  was  London  porter,  reasona- 
ble Cheshire  cheese,  to  say  nothing  of  caviare , smoked  goose-breasts,  and 
other  relishes;  he  says  he  regularly  “filled  his  cavities.”  After  the  dis- 
cipline his  stomach  underwent  in  such  villages  as  Schlunkendorf  and 
Nichel  it  is  so  improved  in  its  tone  that  I have  very  little  of  my  old 
trouble — and  it  was  a trouble — in  suiting  it.  He  swears  that  he  eats 
“wiirst”  even  with  a relish.  I wish  he  had  marched  a year  ago,  and  I 
almost  regret  with  Mrs.  Dilke  that  he  is  not  in  the  army.  I mean  to 
make  him  a present  of  a walking-stick  on  New-Year’s  day  and  to  make 
him  trot  out  on  errands. 


'"“Mr.  Franck  had  so  far  forgotten  his  English,”  says  Tom  Hood  the  Younger, 
!as  to  make  little  mistakes  sometimes,  and  he  once  said  he  ‘wented  in’  somewhere.” 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


275 


In  a letter  to  De  Franck,  dated  April  23,  1837,  he  writes: 

My  Dear  Johnny,  Are  n’t  you  glad  to  hear  now  that  I ’ve  only  been 
ill  and  spitting  blood  three  times  since  I left  you,  instead  of  being  very 
dead  indeed,  as  you  must  have  thought  from  my  very  long  silence. 

Tim,  says  he,  I laughed  heartily  at  your  description  of  the  fishing  at 
Bromberg,  for  you  seemed  in  a whimsical  dilemma  enough,  and  so,  after 
wishing  with  all  your  heart,  soul,  and  strength  to  be  within  reach  of  sal- 
mon, you  were  frightened  at  them  when  you  had  them  at  hand! 

For  myself,  Johnny,  I must  give  up  all  hope  of  ever  wetting  a line  at 
Bromberg ; not  only  are  my  marching  days  over,  but  I fear  I shall  never 
be  able  to  travel  again.  I am  now  sure  that  this  climate,  so  warm  in 
summer  and  so  cold  in  winter,  does  not  suit  my  English  blood.  Inflam- 
matory disorders  are  the  besetting  sin  of  the  place.  Witness  poor  Dilke. 

. It  is  a miserable  thing,  Tim,  to  be  such  a shattered  old  fellow 
as  I am ; when  you,  who  are  in  years  my  senior,  are  gallivanting  about 
like  a boy  of  nineteen ! The  artist  who  is  coming  out  to  take  my  portrait 
will  have  a nice  elderly  grizzled  head  to  exhibit!  What!  that  pale,  thin, 
long  face  the  Comic ! Zounds  ! I must  gammon  him  and  get  some  friend 

to  sit  for  me What  do  you  think,  Tim,  of  a black  man  who 

by  dancing  and  singing  one  little  song  called  “Jim  Crow  ” has  cleared,  in 
London  and  America,  ^30,000 ! There  ’s  one  string  to  your  bow  for 
you!  ....  Fanny  is  very  well  again  and  very  good;  Jane  is  as 
usual ; she  is  now  drinking  porter,  at  which  I look  half  savage.  Only 
think,  porter  and  Cheshire  cheese,  and  I daren’t  take  both!  I mustn’t 
even  sip,  and  I long  to  swig.  Nothing  but  water.  I shall  turn  a fish 
soon,  and  have  the  pleasure  of  angling  for  myself.  I am  almost  melan- 
choly, for  I never  had  any  serious  fears  about  my  health  before;  my 
lungs  were  always  good.  But  now  I think  they  are  touched  too.  I ’ve 
had  a sort  of  plaster  on  my  chest,  which  will  not  heal.  But  I wo  n’t 
bother  you  with  my  symptoms.  In  spite  of  all  this,  I ordered  this  morn- 
ing a new  fishing-jacket — a green  one;  so  you  see  I mean  to  show  fight, 

and  keep  on  my  legs  as  long  as  I can I say,  Tim,  says  he, 

if  I were  at  Bromberg  would  n’t  we  have  fun ; but  that ’s  over.  So  as 
Mahomet  said  to  the  mountain,  “Why,  if  I can’t  come  to  you,  you  must 
come  to  me.”  Farewell  and  Amen  says,  my  dear  Johnny, 

Yours  ever  truly,  Thomas  Hood. 

The  day  after  his  return  he  became  so  ill  that  he  was  con- 
fined to  his  bed.  “ My  marching,  in  fact,”  he  writes  to  his 
friend  Dilke,  editor  of  the  Athenaeum,  “ ended  like  Le  Fevre’s, 
in  a sick  bed — my  regiment  came  to  a regimen.” 


276 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Hood  missed  his  friend  De  Franck  sadly;  and  Coblenz  be- 
came “ very  dreary  and  tedious  to  him,”  says  his  daughter.  He 
began  to  think  the  climate  of  Coblenz  injurious  to  him  and  to 
regard  the  long  time,  a month,  required  for  the  passage  of  pack- 
ages between  Coblenz  and  London,  a great  drawback.  In  May, 
1837,  he  removed  to  Ostend,  where  he  remained  till  the  sum- 
mer of  1840.  The  history  of  his  life  at  Ostend  is  given  in  one 
sentence  of  a letter  to  Lieutenant  de  Franck:  “You  know  how 
my  time  is  divided;  first  I am  very  ill,  then  very  busy  to  make 
up  for  lost  time,  and  then  in  consequence  very  much  jaded  and 
knocked  up,  which  ends  generally  in  my  being  very  ill  again.” 

In  March,  1840,  Hood  wrote  a statement  of  his  symptoms 
to  his  friend,  Dr.  Elliot,  of  Stratford,  who  immediately  wrote  to 
invite  him  to  come  and  stay  with  him  for  some  time,  that  he 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  examining  the  symptoms.  The 
invalid  accordingly  sailed  for  England.  The  first  night  after 
his  arrival  at  Dr.  Elliot7 s he  was  seized  with  a very  violent  hem- 
orrhage which  utterly  prostrated  him.  From  the  good  Elliots 
he  received  every  attention,  and  Mrs.  Hood  hastened  over  to 
be  with  him.  Dr.  Elliot  having  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  his 
patient  would  never  be  so  well  in  any  other  country  as  in  Eng- 
land, it  was  resolved  that  his  future  residence  should  be  in  his 
native  land.  In  July  he  and  his  wife  went  to  Ostend  and 
brought  over  the  children. 

On  his  return  he  made  an  engagement  with  Mr.  Colburn  to 
write  for  the  “New  Monthly  Magazine,77  then  edited  by  Theo- 
dore Hook.  In  this  periodical  was  published  the  famous  poem, 
“ Miss  Kilmansegg  and  her  Precious  Leg.77 

On  the  death  of  Hook,  in  1841,  the  editorship  of  the  “New 
Monthly77  was  given  to  Hood,  the  salary  being  ^300  a year. 
The  charming  letters  of  Mrs.  Hood  to  Mrs.  Elliot  show  what 
joy  was  excited  by  this  event.  Under  date  of  August  31,  1841, 
she  writes: 

Dear  Mrs.  Elliot:  Mr.  Colburn’s  Mr.  S has  been  here  to  offer 

Hood  the  editorship  of  the  “New  Monthly”!  There’s  good  news.  I 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


277 


have  scarcely  wits  to  write  to  you ; but  you,  our  kindest  and  best  friends 
in  adversity,  must  be  the  first  to  rejoice  with  us  at  better  prospects. 
Perhaps  you  may  not  have  heard  of  Mr.  Theodore  Hook’s  death,  which 
happened  a week  ago.  We  have  had  some  anxiety  whether  Mr.  Colburn, 
with  the  disadvantages  of  Hood’s  having  been  of  late  unable  to  do  any 
thing  for  the  Magazine,  would  consider  him  competent.  I have  thought 
of  it  night  and  day,  and  truly  thankful  am  I to  God  for  the  blessing.  I 
can  not  settle  my  thoughts  to  write,  for  the  messenger  of  good  has  only 
just  left,  and  I am  in  what  the  servants  call  a “mizzy  maze.”  Hood, 
with  all  the  proper  dignity  of  his  sex,  is  more  calm  and  sedate  upon  the 
subject,  and  begs,  as  all  is  not  yet  settled,  that  you  will  not  mention  it  to 
any  one.  Love  to  you  all. 

Your  ever  affectionate  Jane  Hood. 

Hood  added  to  the  letter: 

My  Dear  Friends  : It  was  only  a semi-official  visit  of  S ’s.  Still 

a very  good  chance — perhaps,  having  spit  so  much  blood  away,  I am  not 
quite  so  sanguine  as  Jane.  Time  will  show.  Seriously  it  would  be 
comfort  at  last  and,  I think,  go  far  to  cure  me  of  some  of  my  ailments. 
Should  I get  appointed,  be  sure  the  editor  will  come  and  show  himself  at 
Stratford  to  receive  your  congratulations.  God  bless  you  ail ; kisses  for 
all  my  little  dear  friends  and  love  to  the  big  boys. 

Yours  most  truly,  Thomas  Hood. 

Three  days  afterward  Mrs.  Hood  writes  in  a kind  of  ecstasy 
of  happiness: 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Elliot:  All  is  settled,  and  Hood  is  to  be  the  editor 
of  the  “New  Monthly”!  We  were  until  this  morning  on  “tenter- 
hooks;” and  so  was  S , who  understood  he  was  to  hear  from  Hood 

when  he  should  have  made  up  his  mind ; but  not  hearing,  came  over 
to-day  to  know  why.  I saw  Mr.  Dilke  yesterday,  who  could  not  tell  us 
what  Hook  had.  So  Hood  has  accepted  it  on  the  understanding  he  is  to 

receive  the  same  as  Hook  did.  S in  an  awkward  way  said  he  knew 

he  might  say  ^200;  but  we  saw  by  his  manner  that  it  had  been  more. 
So  Hood  stuck  to  his  text  of  the  same  as  Mr.  Hook ; and  of  course  it  will 
be  so,  for  I see  they  are  eager  to  have  him,  and  Mr.  Dilke  says  that 
Hood’s  name  will  be  a good  card  for  them. 

The  prospect  of  a certainty  makes  me  feel  “passing  rich.”  Poverty 
has  come  so  very  near  of  late  that,  in  the  words  of  Moore’s  song,  “Hope 
grew  sick  as  the  witch  drew  nigh.”  I know  how  delighted  you  will 
both  feel  that  it  is  now  a certainty.  Hood  was  poorly  yesterday ; but  it 
was  the  delay  and  uncertainty.  To-day  he  is  pretty  well,  and  getting  on 


278 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


with  his  writing.  He  says  you  may  now  suppose  the  Magazine  on  his 
lap ; and  really  thinks,  considering  the  circumstances,  that  he  ought  to 

be  allowed  his  porter This  is  a most  disgraceful  letter  for 

the  wife  of  an  editor,  I must  say ; but  you  must  make  allowance  for  me — 
I am  in  a dream,  and  my  sentences  and  my  expressions  have  all  the 

obscurity  of  that  twilight  state 

Yours  affectionately,  Jane  Hood. 

It  was  settled  that  Hood  should  receive  ^300  a year,  inde- 
pendent of  any  articles  he  should  write,  which  were  to  be  paid 
for  at  the  usual  rates. 

At  the  end  of  1841  Hood  removed  from  Camberwell  and 
took  lodgings  in  Elm-tree  Road,  St.  John’s  Wood.  Here  he 
used  to  have  little  modest  dinners  now  and  then,  to  which  his 
intimate  friends  were  invited,  where  he  gave  full  rein  to  his  fun. 

In  a letter,  dated  February  20,  1842,  to  De  Franck,  who  was 
then  stationed  at  Hamburg,  Hood  says : 

Tim,  says  he,  You  can’t  be  a Jew  or  you  wouldn’t  live  in  Ham. 

I made  cock-sure  of  you,  when  you  did  not  answer  our  last  letter,  that 
you  were  coming  with  the  king  ;*  why  did  n’t  you  ? I think  it  will  make 
me  disloyal  to  Frederick  that  he  did  n’t  bring  you. 

However,  write  soon,  and  I will  send  you  what  has  long  been  made 
up,  and  let  me  know  what  tackle  you  want.  I have  a “Comic”  for  you 
and  one  for  Mr.  Riihe  [who  in  conjunction  with  Von  Franck  had  trans- 
lated “Eugene  Aram”  into  German],  with  a letter,  and  one  for  Prince 
Radziwill,  to  your  care.  It  has  come  meanwhile  to  a new  edition. 

As  editor  of  the  “New  Monthly  Magazine,”  I stand  higher  than  ever. 
There  was  great  competition  for  it,  but  I did  not  even  apply,  and  was 
therefore  selected 

I believe,  thanks  to  our  dear  Dr.  Elliot,  I have  got  over  the  blood- 
spitting; but  England  has  a capital  climate  after  all,  as  is  proved  by  the 
life-tables. 

Mind,  come  and  see  us,  and  won’t  we  have  some  fun?  God  bless 
you,  Tim,  says  Your  faithful  friend  (in  great  haste), 

Thos.  Hood,  E.  N.  M.  M! ! ! 

P.  S,  There  are  several  very  nice  young  English  ladies  in  this  country 
quite  disengaged ; I do  not  know  how  many  exactly,  but  will  answer  for 
five  or  six. 


*The  King  of  Prussia  had  visited  England  at  the  beginning  of  this  year. 


THOMAS  HOOD.  279 

Mrs.  Hood  wrote  at  the  same  time,  and  Hood  made  the 
following  interpolation  in  her  letter: 

Hood  will  copy  at  the  end  the  direction  to  be  sent  on  the  box.  I am 
pretty  well,  much  the  same  as  Hood,  and  my  wife  is  not  over  strong, 
neither  is  Jane,  and  Mrs.  Hood  seems  to  be  no  better  than  she  is;  but  I 
hope  she  will  mend,  and  so  does  Hood.  As  to  Johnny,  he  is  as  well  as 
can  be  expected,  but  Hood  does  not  expect  he  shall  ever  be  very  strong 
again.  So  we  must  all  make  the  best  of  it,  the  Editor  and  all,  who  seems 
to  sympathise  in  his  ailments  with  me,  and  Hood,  and  Johnny;  but  he 
can  not  expect  to  be  better  than  we  are ; for  he  and  we  have  the  same 
complaint,  a sort  of  monthly  eruption,  which  we  think  is  better  “out” 
than  in ; my  wife,  Jane,  and  Mrs.  Hood  call  it  the  “ Magazine.”  It  is  a 
sort  of  black  and  white  literary  rash  of  a periodical  nature,  chiefly  affect- 
ing the  head.  As  yet  none  of  the  children  have  caught  it.  [Mrs.  Hood 
resumes  the  pen]  : What  a rigamarole  Hood  has  written  during  my  ab- 
sence ; but  you  are  used  to  his  tricks. 

A letter  from  Hood  to  Mrs.  Elliot,  dated  July  11,  1842, 
gives  an  account  of  a dinner — apparently  in  honor  of  Dickens 
on  his  return  from  America — at  which  he  was  to  have  been 
chairman : 

Jordan  was  the  vice,  and  a certain  person  not  well  adapted  to  Jill  a chair 
was  to  have  occupied  the  opposite  virtue  ; but  on  the  score  of  ill-health  I 
begged  off,  and  Captain  Marryat  presided.  [There  were  present  Dickens, 
Monckton  Milnes  (Lord  Houghton),  Barry  Cornwall  (Procter),  Cruick- 
shank,  Father  Prout,  and  other  celebrities  to  the  number  of  twenty-seven.] 
As  to  myself  I had  to  make  my  second  maiden  speech , for  Mr.  Monckton 
Milnes  proposed  my  health  in  terms  my  modesty  might  allow  me  to 
repeat  to  you , but  my  memory  won’t.  However,  I ascribed  the  toast  to 
my  notoriously  bad  health  and  assured  them  that  their  wishes  had  already 
improved  it — that  I felt  a brisker  circulation,  a more  genial  warmth  about 
the  heart — and  explained  that  a certain  trembling  of  my  hand  was  not 
from  palsy  or  my  old  ague,  but  an  inclination  of  my  hand  to  shake  itself 
with  every  one  present.  Whereupon  I had  to  go  through  the  friendly 
ceremony  with  as  many  of  the  company  as  were  within  reach,  besides  a 
few  more  who  came  express  from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  Very  grati- 
fying, was  n’t  it?  Though  I can  not  go  quite  so  far  as  Jane,  who  wants 
me  to  have  that  hand  chopped  off,  bottled,  and  preserved  in  spirits.  She 
was  sitting  up  for  me  very  anxiously,  as  usual  when  I go  out,  because  I am 
so  domestic  and  steady ; and  she  was  down  at  the  door  before  I could  ring 
at  the  gate,  to  which  Boz  kindly  sent  me  in  his  own  carriage.  Poor  girl ! 
what  would  she  do  if  she  had  a wild  husband  instead  of  a tame  one ! 


28o 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


The  secretaries  of  the  Bazaar  Committee  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Manchester  Athenaeum  requested  of  Hood  leave  to  place 
his  name  in  the  list  of  their  patrons.  He  wrote  them  a letter, 
which  was  printed  and  sold  at  the  Bazaar.  The  following  is  a 
portion  of  the  letter: 

(FROM  MY  BED.) 

17,  Elm  Tree  Road,  St.  John’s  Wood,  July  18,  1843. 

Gentlemen  : If  my  humble  name  can  be  of  the  least  use  for  your 
purpose,  it  is  heartily  at  your  service,  with  my  best  wishes  for  the  pros- 
perity of  the  Manchester  Athenaeum  and  my  warmest  approval  of  the 
objects  of  that  Institution. 

I have  elsewhere  recorded  my  own  deep  obligations  to  Literature — 
that  a natural  turn  for  reading  and  intellectual  pursuits  probably  pre- 
served me  from  the  moral  shipwreck  so  apt  to  befal  those  who  are 
deprived  in  early  life  of  the  paternal  pilotage.  At  the  very  least  my 
books  kept  me  aloof  from  the  ring,  the  dog -pit,  the  tavern,  and  the 
saloons,  with  their  degrading  orgies.  For  the  closest  associate  of  Pope 
and  Addison,  the  mind  accustomed  to  the  noble  though  silent  discourse 
of  Shakespeare  and  Milton  will  hardly  seek  or  put  up  with  low  company 
and  slang.  The  reading  animal  will  not  be  content  with  the  brutish 
wallowings  that  satisfy  the  unlearned  pigs  of  the  world. 

In  September  of  1843  he  made  a visit  to  Scotland,  taking 
with  him  his  little  son.  The  health  of  both  was  much  improved 
by  the  trip.  In  connection  with  the  trip  the  son  writes: 

My  father  was  received  with  open  arms  by  the  Scotch ; and  having 
some  Scotch  blood  in  him,  was  not  slow  in  meeting  their  advances.  He 
used  at  hotels  always  to  go  into  the  public  coffee-room,  where  his  genial 
disposition  and  courtesy  invariably  got  him  a good  reception.  I dare  say 
there  are  many  still  living  that  remember  that  thin,  serious-looking  gen- 
tleman who  often  set  the  table  “on  a roar”  by  an  unexpected  turn  or  a 
dry  remark,  and  who  was  so  fond  of  a certain  brown -skinned  urchin 
much  given  to  the  devouring  of  books.  To  any  such  I take  this  oppor- 
tunity of  returning  my  thanks  for  the  great  and  unvarying  kindness  I 
met  with  wherever  I went,  for  the  sake  of  my  father.  Nor  shall  my 
thanks  cease  with  that  early  period.  Up  to  this  present  hour,  for  the 
same  reason,  the  mere  mentioning  of  my  name  in  any  part  of  England 
has  ever  insured  me  a welcome,  such  as  people  are  wont  to  give  when 
they  recognize  in  a stranger  the  son  of  an  old  and  valued  familiar 
friend. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


281 


Hood  was  delighted  with  Edinburgh.  He  says,  in  a letter 
to  his  wife: 

The  weather  is  beautiful,  and  I mean  now  to  ramble  all  day  and  see 
all  I can ; so  you  must  not  expect  me  to  write  again.  I look  longingly 
up  at  Salisbury  Crags  and  Arthur’s  Seat,  but  “who  can  tell  how  hard  it 
is  to  climb”?  I don’t  think  I shall  manage  it,  but  mean  to  try  some 
cool  evening.  . . . . . In  one  thing  I have  been  unlucky,  that  it  is 

the  Long  Vacation,  and  most  of  the  lions  are  out  of  town;  Wilson  thirty 
miles  off,  Napier  gone  too.  I left  my  letter  for  him,  and  also  for  Lord 
Jeffrey,  who  has  just  sent  me  an  invitation  to  dinner  to-morrow  at  his 
seat,  three  miles  hence. 

He  visited  D.  M.  Moir  at  Musselburgh,  six  miles  from  Edin- 
burgh, and  was  charmed  with  him,  his  wife,  and  his  children. 

Toward  the  close  of  1843  Hood  determined  to  publish  a 
magazine  of  his  own  and  to  call  it  “ Hood’s  Magazine  and 
Comic  Miscellany.” 

In  the  Christmas  number  of  “Punch”  for  this  year  appeared 
the  “ Song  of  the  Shirt,”  which  ran  through  the  land  like  wild- 
fire. It  was  quoted  by  paper  after  paper,  and  it  became  the 
talk  of  the  day.  “There  was  no  little  speculation  as  to  its 
author,”  says  his  daughter;  “although  several,  I believe  Dick- 
ens in  the  number,  attributed  it  at  once  to  its  true  source.” 
Hood  was  astonished  at  its  popularity,  though  Mrs.  Hood  had 
said  when  she  was  folding  the  packet  ready  for  the  press,  “Now 
mind,  Hood,  mark  my  words,  this  will  tell  wonderfully!  It  is 
one  of  the  best  things  you  ever  did ! ” It  was  translated  into 
several  foreign  languages.  It  was  printed  on  cotton  handker- 
chiefs and,  like  other  popular  poems,  was  parodied  time  after 
time.  “ But  what  delighted,  and  yet  touched,  my  father  most 
deeply  was  that  the  poor  creatures  to  whose  sorrows  and  suffer- 
ings he  had  given  such  eloquent  voice  seemed  to  adopt  its 
words  as  their  own  by  singing  them  about  the  streets  to  a rude 
air  of  their  own  adaptation.”  In  a letter  to  Dr.  Elliot  Mrs. 
Hood  writes: 

I inclose  a “ Punch  ” paper,  though  you  may  have  seen  Hood’s  “ Song 
of  the  Shirt,”  as  it  was  in  the  “Times.”  I think  he  has  scarcely  ever 

24 


282 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


written  any  thing  that  has  been  so  much  talked  of  as  this  song.  We  hear 
of  it  every  where,  and  both  morning  and  evening  papers  have  quoted  it 
and  spoken  of  it.  To-day  I received  a note  from  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  offer- 
ing to  send  him  occasional  sketches  for  his  magazine,  stipulating  to  name 
her  own  terms,  the  payment  to  be  “the  pleasure  she  will  feel  in  assisting, 
however  humbly,  in  the  success  of  his  periodical:  as  a tribute  of  venera- 
tion to  the  author  of  the  ‘ Song  of  the  Shirt.’  ” 

Just  after  Christmas,  1843,  Hood  removed  to  another  house, 
which  he  called  “ Devonshire  Lodge”  in  honor  of  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire,  who  had  been  so  exceedingly  generous  to  him. 

In  January,  1844,  the  first  number  of  “Hood’s  Magazine” 
appeared,  meeting  with  great  success.  But  Hood  had  trouble 
about  the  publishing.  Mrs.  Hood  writes  to  Dr.  Elliot: 

You  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  Mr. , the  proprietor  of  “Hood’s 

Magazine,”  has  engaged  in  the  speculation  without  sufficient  means  to 
carry  it  on — having  been  tempted  by  the  goodness  of  the  speculation  and 
hoping  to  scramble  through  it.  Hood  is  obliged  of  course  to  get  rid  of 
him  and  find  some  one  else.  The  first  alarm  we  had  was  his  quarreling 
with  Bradbury  and  Evans,  the  printers,  about  payment.  This  was  on 
the  27th  of  January.  Hood  then  got  another  man  in  February,  who  could 
not  manage  it;  and  on  the  12th  he  engaged  another,  who  had  new  type 
to  buy  and  could  not  begin  to  print  till  the  16th — this  in  the  shortest 
month  of  the  year.  The  worry  laid  Hood  up ; and  all  these  things  of 
course  prevented  the  Magazine  from  coming  out  in  time.  It  is  doing 

well.  B told  Mr.  Phillips  he  had  never  before  heard  of  such  a sale 

as  1,500  for  a first  number. 

Hood  was  very  fond  of  Dr.  Elliot’s  children,  and  he  wrote 
some  very  amusing  and  charming  letters  to  them.  Little  May 
and  he  at  a picnic  in  the  Forest  had  an  accidental  roll  down  a 
bank,  landing  in  a bush  of  furze  at  the  bottom : 

17,  Elm  Tree  Road,  St.  John’s  Wood,  Monday,  Apr.,  1844. 

My  Dear  May  : I promised  you  a letter,  and  here  it  is.  I was  sure 
to  remember  it ; for  you  are  as  hard  to  forget  as  you  are  soft  to  roll  down 
a hill  with.  What  fun  it  was!  only  so  prickly;  I thought  I had  a porcu- 
pine in  one  pocket,  and  a hedgehog  in  the  other.  The  next  time,  before 
we  kiss  the  earth  we  will  have  its  face  well  shaved.  Did  you  ever  go  to 
Greenwich  Fair  ? I should  like  to  go  there  with  you,  for  I get  no  rolling 


THOMAS  HOOD.  283 

at  St.  John’s  Wood.  Tom  and  Fanny  only  like  roll  and  butter,  and  as 
for  Mrs.  Hood,  she  is  for  rolling  in  money. 

Tell  Dunnie  that  Tom  has  set  his  trap  in  the  balcony  and  has  caught 
a cold,  and  tell  Jeanie  that  Fanny  has  set  her  foot  in  the  garden,  but  it 
has  not  come  up  yet.  Oh,  how  I wish  it  was  the  season  when  “March 
winds  and  April  showers  bring  forth  May  flowers  ” ! for  then  of  course 
you  would  give  me  another  pretty  little  nosegay.  Besides  it  is  frosty  and 
foggy  weather,  which  I do  not  like.  The  other  night,  when  I came  from 
Stratford,  the  cold  shriveled  me  up  so  that  when  I got  home  I thought  I 
was  my  own  child ! 

However  I hope  we  shall  all  have  a merry  Christmas ; I mean  to 
come  in  my  most  ticklesome  waistcoat,  and  to  laugh  till  I grow  fat,  or  at 
least  streaky.  Fanny  is  to  be  allowed  a glass  of  wine,  Tom’s  mouth  is 
to  have  a hole  holiday,  and  Mrs.  Hood  is  to  sit  up  to  supper ! There  will 
be  doings ! And  then  such  good  things  to  eat ; but  pray,  pray,  pray, 
mind  they  do  n’t  boil  the  baby  by  mistake  for  a plump  pudding  instead  of 
a plum  one. 

Give  my  love  to  every  body,  from  yourself  down  to  Willy;* **  with 
which,  and  a kiss,  I remain,  up  hill  and  down  dale, 

Your  affectionate  lover,  Thomas  Hood. 

In  May  he  had  a severe  attack  of  sickness,  which  was 
brought  on  by  hard  work  on  his  new  magazine  and  doubts 
as  to  the  solvency  of  his  partner.  In  a letter  dated  May  2 2d 
Mrs.  Hood  writes  to  Dr.  Elliot: 

Hood  could  not  give  up  the  hope  of  getting  the  magazine  out  till  last 
night ; for  it  is  quite  a sin  to  let  what  might  be  so  good  fall  to  the  ground. 
Could  he  have  got  a publisher  it  might  have  been  done,  but  now  it ’s  too 
late.  Last  night  he  fretted  dreadfully,  and  at  one  this  morning  was 
seized  so  suddenly  with  short  breathing  and  fullness  of  the  chest  I 

thought  he  could  not  live He  lies  very  quiet  reading  in 

his  bed,  not  speaking  ; but  I fear  he  is  very  ill.  I do  not  write  this  to 
ask  you  to  come,  my  dear  Dr.  Elliot ; for  what  can  be  done  to  relieve  his 
poor  mind,  which  feels  cruelly  this  failure  of  a work  he  has  labored  at 
night  and  day,  and  which  would  have  been  a good  property  if  carried 
on ! I dare  not  write  more,  or  I shall  be  unfit  to  do  my  best  for  him. 

In  the  midst  of  his  sickness  and  distress  his  friends  rallied 


* “ Willy  at  that  time  being  very  tall  for  his  age,  and  May,  his  youngest  sister, 

not  very  tall  for  her  age,”  says  Tom  Hood  the  Younger. 


284 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


round  him,  Mr.  F.  O.  Ward  installing  himself  as  unpaid  sub- 
editor. May  23d  Hood  himself  writes  to  Dr.  Elliot: 

Dear  Doctor:  Put  on  six  leeches  yesterday  on  the  pit  of  the  stomach 
(my  stomach  ought  to  be  all  pit  by  this  time):  the  bites  bled  a good  deal. 
I slept  at  night,  but  was  very  much  exhausted.  ....  Great  noises 
in  the  chest  when  I swallow,  as  of  renewed  action.  Heart  quiet  and 
pulse  stronger;  beat  equal  and  not  too  fast.  I think  it  is  a turn  for  the 
better ; but  I am  dreadfully  reduced.  I find  brown  bread  and  honey  a 
good  diet.  Yours  ever  affectionately,  T.  Hood. 

P.  T.  O.  A pleasant  party  to  you.  To-day  is  my  birthday — forty-five; 
but  I can’t  tell  you  how  old  I feel;  enough  to  be  your  grandfather  at 
least,  and  give  yew  advice!  viz.,  do  n’t  over-polka  yourself. 

Epigram  on  Dr.  Robert  Elliot,*  of  Camberwell. 
Whatever  Dr.  Robert’s  skill  be  worth, 

One  hope  within  me  still  is  stout  and  hearty, 

He  would  not  kill  me  till  the  24th, 

For  fear  of  my  appearing  at  his  party. 

In  “The  Echo”  at  the  end  of  the  number  for  June  the 
acting  editor  says: 

It  is  with  feelings  of  the  deepest  concern  that  we  acquaint  our  sub- 
scribers and  the  public  with  the  circumstances  that  have  during  the  past 
month  deprived  this  Magazine  of  the  invaluable  services  of  its  Editor. 
A severe  attack  of  the  disorder  to  which  he  has  long  been  subject,  haem- 
orrhage from  the  lungs,  occasioned  by  enlargement  of  the  heart  (itself 
brought  on  by  the  wearing  excitement  of  ceaseless  and  excessive  literary 
toil)  has  in  the  course  of  a few  weeks  reduced  Mr.  Hood  to  a state  of  such 
extreme  debility  and  exhaustion  that  during  several  days  fears  were  en- 
tertained for  his  life.  Nevertheless,  up  to  Thursday  the  23d  he  did  not 
relinquish  the  hope  that  he  should  have  strength  to  continue  in  the  pres- 
ent number  the  novel  which  he  began  in  the  last ; and  he  even  directed 
his  intentions  to  be  announced  in  the  advertisements  which  were  sent  out 
on  that  day  to  the  Saturday  journals  On  the  same  evening,  sitting  up 
in  bed,  he  tried  to  invent  and  sketch  a few  comic  designs ; but  even  this 
effort  exceeded  his  strength  and  was  followed  by  the  wandering  delirium 
of  utter  nervous  exhaustion.  Next  morning  his  medical  attendants  de- 
clared that  the  repetition  of  any  such  attempt  at  that  critical  period  of 
his  illness  might  cost  him  his  life.  We  trust  that  this  brief  explanation 


* Brother  of  Dr.  Elliot,  of  Stratford. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


285 


will  obtain  for  Mr.  Hood  the  sympathy  and  kind  indulgence  of  our  sub- 
scribers; and  especially  that  it  will  satisfy  them  of  the  perfect  bona  fides 
with  which  the  promise  of  a contribution  from  his  pen  was  advertised  in 
the  Saturday  papers.  Mr.  Hood,  we  are  happy  to  say,  is  now  gradually 
recovering  strength ; and  there  is  every  reason  to  expect  that  he  will  be 
able  in  the  next  number  to  give  the  promised  new  chapters  and  illustra- 
tions, at  present  of  necessity  deferred. 

Conscious  of  his  enfeebled  powers  and  uncertain  hand,  Mr.  Hood 
threw  aside  the  above-mentioned  sketches  'as  too  insignificant  for  pub- 
lication. But  it  has  been  thought  that  the  contrast  of  their  sprightly 
humor  with  the  pain  and  prostration  in  the  midst  of  which  they  were 
produced  might  give  them  a peculiar  interest,  independent  of  any  merit 
of  their  own ; suggesting  perhaps  the  reflection  (never  too  trite  to  be 
repeated  so  long  as  it  is  too  true  to  be  denied)  by  what  harassing  efforts 
the  food  of  careless  mirth  is  furnished,  and  how  often  the  pleasure  of  the 
Many  costs  bitter  endurance  to  the  One.  Disobeying  therefore  for  once 
the  direction  of  our  chief,  we  have  preserved  two  of  these  “sick-room 
fancies,”  which  will  enable  us  to  convey,  in  his  own  quaint  picture- 
language,  to  the  readers  of  “Hood’s  Mag.”  “The  Editor’s  Apologies.” 

“Hood’s  Mag.”  was  a magpie  with  a hawk’s  hood  on;  “The 
Editor’s  Apologies”  a collection  of  bottles  and  leeches  and 
blisters. 

As  has  been  seen,  Hood  could  not  even  in  his  letter  to  Dr. 
Elliot  describing  the  symptoms  of  his  severe  attack  repress  his 
sense  of  humor.  The  three  following  letters,  written  in  one 
day  to  three  of  Dr.  Elliot’s  children,  who  were  spending  a few 
weeks  by  the  sea  at  Sandgate,  overflow  with  fun  such  as  would 
make  children  cry  with  laughing.  But  there  is  an  undertone 
of  sadness  running  through  them;  the  “string  attuned  to 
mirth”  has  “its  chord  of  melancholy.”  The  melancholy  it- 
self, however,  takes  on  a ludicrous  appearance.  The  writer 
seeming  to  see  Death  approaching  on  his  pale  horse  amuses 
himself  with  the  jingling  of  the  bridle: 

Devonshire  Lodge,  New  Finchley  Road,  St.  John’s  Wood,  j 
July  1st  (1st  of  Blebrew  falsity).  / 

My  Dear  Dunnie:  I have  heard  of  your  doings  at  Sandgate,  and 
that  you  were  so  happy  at  getting  to  the  sea  that  you  were  obliged  to  be 
flogged  a little  to  moderate  it,  and  keep  some  for  next  day.  I am  very 


286 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


fond  of  the  sea  too,  though  I have  been  nearly  drowned  by  it ; once  in  a 
storm  in  a ship,  and  once  under  a boat-bottom  when  I was  bathing.  Of 
course  you  have  bathed,  but  have  you  learned  to  swim  yet?  It  is  rather 
easy  in  salt  water,  and  diving  is  still  easier  even  than  at  the  sink . I 
only  swim  in  fancy,  and  strike  out  new  ideas. 

Is  not  the  tide  curious?  Though  I can  not  say  much  for  its  tidiness; 
it  makes  such  a slop  and  litter  on  the  beach.  It  comes  and  goes  as  regu- 
larly as  the  boys  of  a proprietary  school,  but  has  no  holidays.  And  what 
a rattle  the  waves  make  with  the  stones  when  they  are  rough ! You  will 
find  some  rolled  into  decent  marbles  and  bounces.  And  sometimes  you 
may  hear  the  sound  of  a heavy  sea  at  a distance  like  a giant  snoring. 
Some  people  say  that  every  ninth  wave  is  bigger  than  the  rest.  I have 
often  counted,  but  never  found  it  come  true,  except  with  tailors,  of  whom 
every  ninth  is  a man.  But  in  rough  weather  there  are  giant  waves,  bigger 
than  the  rest,  that  come  in  trios,  from  which  I suppose  Britannia  rules  the 
waves  by  the  rule  of  three.  When  I was  a boy  I loved  to  play  with  the 
sea,  in  spite  of  its  sometimes  getting  rather  rough . I and  my  brother 
chucked  hundreds  of  stones  into  it,  as  you  do ; but  we  came  away  before 
we  could  fill  it  up.  In  those  days  we  were  at  war  with  France.  Unluck- 
ily it ’s  peace  now,  or  with  so  many  stones  you  might  have  good  fun  for 
days  in  pelting  the  enemy’s  coast.  Once  I almost  thought  I nearly  hit 
Boney ! Then  there  was  looking  for  an  island,  like  Robinson  Crusoe. 
Have  you  ever  found  one  yet,  surrounded  by  water  ? I remember  once 
staying  on  the  beach,  when  the  tide  was  flowing,  till  I was  a peninsula, 
and  only  by  running  turned  myself  into  a continent. 

Then  there ’s  fishing  at  the  seaside.  I used  to  catch  flatfish  with  a 
long  string  line.  It  was  like  swimming  a kite ! But  perhaps  there  are 
no  flatfish  at  Sandgate — except  your  shoe-soles.  The  best  plan,  if  you 
want  flatfish  where  there  are  none,  is  to  bring  codlings  and  hammer  them 
into  dabs.  Once  I caught  a plaice;  and,  seeing  it  all  over  red  spots, 
thought  I had  caught  the  measles. 

Do  you  ever  long,  while  you  are  looking  at  the  sea,  for  a voyage? 
If  I were  off  Sandgate  with  my  yacht  (only  she  is  not  yet  built),  I would 
give  you  a cruise  in  her.  In  the  meantime  you  can  practice  sailing  any 
little  boat  you  can  get.  But  mind  that  it  does  not  flounder  or  get 
squamped,  as  some  people  say  instead  of  “founder”  and  “swamp.”  I 
have  been  swamped  myself  by  malaria  and  almost  foundered ; which  re- 
minds me  that  Tom,  junior,  being  very  ingenious,  has  made  a cork  model 
of  a diving-bell  that  won’t  sink. 

By  this  time  I suppose  you  are  become,  instead  of  a land-boy,  a regu- 
lar sea-urchin ; and  so  amphibious  that  you  can  walk  on  the  land  as  well 
as  on  the  water — or  better.  And  don’t  you  mean,  when  you  grow  up, 
to  go  to  sea?  Should  you  not  like  to  be  a little  midshipman?  or  half  a 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


287 


quarter-master,  with  a cocked-hat,  and  a dirk  that  will  be  a sword  by  the 
time  you  are  a man?  If  you  do  resolve  to  be  a post-captain,  let  me 
know,  and  I will  endeavor,  through  my  interest  with  the  Commissioners 
of  Pavements,  to  get  you  a post  to  jump  o Ter  of  the  proper  height. 
Tom  is  just  rigging  a boat,  so  I suppose  that  he  inclines  to  be  an  admiral 
of  the  marines.  But  before  you  decide,  remember  the  port-holes,  and 
that  there  are  great  guns  in  those  battle-doors  that  will  blow  you  into 
shuttlecocks,  which  is  a worse  game  than  whoop  and  hide — as  to  a good 
hiding ! 

And  so  farewell,  young  “Old  Fellow/’  and  take  care  of  yourself  so 
near  the  sea,  for  in  some  places  they  say  it  has  not  even  a bottom  to  go 
to  if  you  fall  in.  And  remember  when  you  are  bathing,  if  you  meet 
with  a shark,  the  best  way  is  to  bite  off  his  legs,  if  you  can,  before  he 
walks  off  with  yours.  And  so,  hoping  you  will  be  better  soon,  for  some- 
body told  me  you  had  the  shingles,  I am,  my  dear  Dunnie, 

Your  affectionate  friend,  T.  Hood. 

P.  S.  I have  heard  that  at  Sandgate  there  used  to  be  lobsters;  but 
some  ignorant  fairy  turned  them  all  by  a spell  into  bolsters . 

Devonshire  Lodge,  New  Finchley  Road,  July  1,  1844. 

My  Dear  Jeanie:  So  you  are  at  Sandgate!  Of  course  wishing  for 

your  old  play-fellow,  M H (he  can  play — it ’s  work  to  me),  to 

help  you  make  little  puddles  in  the  Sand  and  swing  on  the  Gate.  But 
perhaps  there  are  no  sand  and  gate  at  Sandgate,  which  in  that  case  nom- 
inally tells  us  a fib.  But  there  must  be  little  crabs  somewhere,  which  you 
can  catch  if  you  are  nimble  enough,  so  like  spiders  I wonder  they  do  not 
make  webs.  The  large  crabs  are  scarcer. 

If  you  do  catch  a big  one  with  strong  claws — and  like  experiments — 
you  can  shut  him  up  in  a cupboard  with  a loaf  of  sugar,  and  you  can  see 
whether  he  will  break  it  up  with  his  nippers.  Besides  crabs,  I used  to 
find  jelly-fish  on  the  beach,  made,  it  seemed  to  me,  of  sea-calves’  feet 
and  no  sherry. 

The  mermaids  eat  them,  I suppose,  at  their  wet  water-parties,  or  salt 
soirees.  There  were  star-fish  also,  but  they  did  not  shine  till  they  were 
stinking,  and  so  made  very  uncelestial  constellations. 

I suppose  you  never  gather  any  sea-flowers,  but  only  sea-weeds.  The 
truth  is  Mr.  David  Jones  never  rises  from  his  bed,  and  so  has  a garden 
full  of  weeds,  like  Dr.  Watts’  sluggard. 

Oysters  are  as  bad,  for  they  never  leave  their  beds  willingly,  they  get 
such  oceans  of  “cold  pig.”  At  some  seasides  you  may  pick  up  shells; 
but  I have  been  told  that  at  Sandgate  there  are  no  shells,  except  those 
of  passive  green  peas  and  lively  maggots. 


288 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


I have  heard  that  you  bathe  in  the  sea,  which  is  very  refreshing,  but 
it  requires  care ; for  if  you  stay  under  water  too  long  you  may  come  up  a 
mermaid,  who  is  only  half  a lady,  with  a fish’s  tail,  which  she  can  boil 
if  she  likes.  You  had  better  try  this  with  your  doll,  whether  it  turns  her 
into  half  a “doll-fin.” 

I hope  you  like  the  sea.  I always  did  when  I was  a child,  which  was 
about  two  years  ago.  Sometimes  it  makes  such  a fizzing  and  foaming,  I 
wonder  some  of  our  London  cheats  do  not  bottle  it  up  and  sell  it  for  ginger- 
pop.  When  the  sea  is  too  rough,  if  you  pour  the  sweet-oil  out  of  the 
cruet  all  over  it , and  wait  for  a calm,  it  will  be  quite  smooth  — much 
smoother  than  a dressed  salad. 

Some  time  ago  exactly,  there  used  to  be  about  the  part  of  the  coast 
where  you  are  large  white  birds  with  black-tipped  wings,  that  went  flying 
and  screaming  over  the  sea,  and  now  and  then  plunged  down  into  the 
water  after  a fish.  Perhaps  they  catch  their  sprats  now  with  nets  or 
hooks  and  lines.  Do  you  ever  see  such  birds?  We  used  to  call  them 
“gulls;”  but  they  didn’t  mind  it!  Do  you  ever  see  any  boats  or  vessels? 
And  do  n’t  you  wish,  when  you  see  a ship,  that  somebody  was  a sea- 
captain  instead  of  a doctor,  that  he  might  bring  you  home  a pet  lion  or  a 
calf  elephant,  ever  so  many  parrots,  or  a monkey,  from  foreign  parts?  I 
knew  a little  girl  who  was  promised  a baby  whale  by  her  sailor  brother, 
and  who  blubblered  because  he  did  not  bring  it.  1 suppose  there  are  no 
whales  at  Sandgate ; but  you  might  find  a seal  about  the  beach,  or  at 
least  a stone  for  one.  The  sea  stones  are  not  pretty  when  they  are  dry, 
but  look  beautiful  when  they  are  wet — and  we  can  always  keep  sucking 
them ! If  you  can  find  one,  pray  pick  me  up  a pebble  for  a seal.  I pre- 
fer the  red  sort,  like  Mrs.  Jenkins’s  brooch  and  ear-rings,  which  she  calls 
“red  chameleon.”  * 

Well,  how  happy  you  must  be!  Childhood  is  such  a joyous,  merry 
time ; and  I often  wish  I were  two  or  three  children ! But  I suppose  I 
can’t  be,  or  else  I would  be  Jeanie  and  May  and  Dunnie  Elliot.  And 
would  n’t  I pull  off  my  three  pairs  of  shoes  and  socks  and  go  paddling  in 
the  sea  up  to  my  six  knees ! And  oh ! how  I would  climb  up  the  downs, 
and  roll  down  the  ups  on  my  three  backs  and  stomachs ! Capital  sport, 
only  it  wears  out  the  woolens.  Which  reminds  me  of  the  sheep  on  the 
downs — and  little  May,  so  innocent,  I daresay  she  often  crawls  about  on 
all-fours  and  tries  to  eat  grass  like  a lamb.  Grass  is  n’t  nasty ; at  least 
not  very,  if  you  take  care  while  you  are  browsing  not  to  chump  up  the 
dandelions.  They  are  large,  yellow  star-flowers,  and  often  grow  about 
dairy-farms,  but  give  very  bad  milk. 

When  I can  buy  a telescope  powerful  enough  I shall  have  a peep  at 


*Mrs.  Jenkins  is  a character  in  Smollett’s  “Humphrey  Clinker.’ 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


289 


you.  I am  told,  with  a good  glass  you  can  see  the  sea  at  such  a distance 
that  the  sea  can  not  see  you!  Now  I must  say  good-bye,  for  my  paper 
gets  short  but  not  stouter.  Pray  give  my  love  to  your  ma,  and  my  com- 
pliments to  Mrs.  H and  no  mistake,  and  remember  me,  my  dear 

Jeanie,  as  your  affectionate  friend,  Thomas  Hood. 

The  other  Tom  Hood  sends  his  love  to  every  body  and  every  thing. 

P.  S.  Do  n’t  forget  my  pebble.  And  a good  naughty-lass  would  be 
esteemed  a curiosity. 

Devonshire  Lodge,  New  Finchley  Road,  July  1,  1844. 

My  Dear  May  : How  do  you  do,  and  how  do  you  like  the  sea?  Not 
much  perhaps,  it ’s  “so  big.”  But  should  n’t  you  like  a nice  little  ocean 
that  you  could  put  in  a pan  ? Yet  the  sea,  although  it  looks  rather  ugly 
at  first,  is  very  useful ; and,  if  I were  near  it  this  dry  summer,  I would 
carry  it  all  home  to  water  the  garden  with  at  Stratford,  and  it  would  be 
sure  to  drown  all  the  blights,  mayfties  and  all ! 

I remember  that,  when  I saw  the  sea,  it  used  sometimes  to  be  very 
fussy  and  fidgety,  and  did  not  always  wash  itself  quite  clean;  but  it  was 
very  fond  of  fun.  Have  the  waves  ever  run  after  you  yet  and  turned 
your  little  two  shoes  into  pumps  full  of  water? 

If  you  want  a joke,  you  might  push  Dunnie  into  the  sea  and  then  fish 
for  him  as  they  do  for  a jack.  But  do  n’t  go  in  yourself,  and  do  n’t  let 
the  baby  go  in  and  swim  away,  although  he  is  the  shrimp  of  the  family. 
Did  you  ever  taste  the  sea-water?  The  fishes  are  so  fond  of  it  they  keep 
drinking  it  all  the  day  long.  Dip  your  little  finger  in,  and  then  suck  it 
to  see  how  it  tastes.  A glass  of  it  warm,  with  sugar  and  a grate  of  nut- 
meg, would  quite  astonish  you!  The  water  of  the  sea  is  so  saline  I 
wonder  nobody  catches  salt  fish  in  it.  I should  think  a good  way  would 
be  to  go  out  in  a butter-boat  with  a little  melted  for  sauce.  Have  you 
been  bathed  yet  in  the  sea,  and  were  you  afraid?  I was  the  first  time, 
and  the  time  before  that;  and,  dear  me,  how  I kicked  and  screamed — 
or,  at  least,  meant  to  scream,  but  the  sea,  ships  and  all,  began  to  run 
into  my  mouth,  and  so  I shut  it  up.  I think  I see  you  dipped  in  the 
sea,  screwing  your  eyes  up  and  putting  your  nose  like  a button  into  your 
mouth  like  a button-hole,  for  fear  of  getting  another  smell  and  taste! 
By  the  bye,  did  you  ever  dive  your  head  under  water,  with  your  legs  up 
in  the  air  like  a duck,  and  try  whether  you  could  cry  “ Quack  ” ? Some 
animals  can ! I would  try,  but  there  is  no  sea  here,  and  so  I am  forced 
to  dip  into  books.  I wish  there  were  such  nice  green  hills  here  as  there 
are  at  Sandgate.  They  must  be  very  nice  to  roll  down,  especially  if  there 
are  no  furze-bushes  to  prickle  one  at  the  bottom ! Do  you  remember  how 
the  thorns  stuck  in  us  like  a penn’orth  of  mixed  pins  at  Wanstead?  I 

25 


290 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


have  been  very  ill,  and  am  so  thin  now  I could  stick  myself  into  a prickle. 
My  legs,  in  particular,  are  so  wasted  away  that  somebody  says  my  pins 
are  only  needles;  and  I am  so  weak  I dare  say  you  could  push  me  down 
on  the  floor  and  right  through  the  carpet,  unless  it  was  a strong  pattern. 
I am  sure,  if  I were  at  Sandgate,  you  could  carry  me  to  the  post-office 
and  fetch  my  letters.  Talking  of  carrying,  I suppose  you  have  donkeys 
at  Sandgate,  and  ride  about  on  them.  Mind  and  always  call  them  “don- 
keys,” for  if  you  call  them  asses  it  might  reach  such  long  ears!  I knew 
a donkey  once  that  kicked  a man  for  calling  him  Jack  instead  of  John. 

There  are  no  flowers  I suppose  on  the  beach,  or  I would  ask  you  to  bring 
me  a bouquet,  as  you  used  to  do  at  Stratford.  But  there  are  little  crabs ! 
If  you  would  catch  one  for  me,  and  teach  it  to  dance  the  Polka,  it  would 
make  me  quite  happy ; for  I have  not  had  any  toys  or  playthings  for  a 
long  time.  Do  you  ever  try,  like  a little  crab,  to  run  two  ways  at  once? 
See  if  you  can  do  it,  for  it  is  good  fun ; never  mind  tumbling  over  your- 
self a little  at  first.  It  would  be  a good  plan  to  hire  a little  crab,  for  an 
hour  a day,  to  teach  baby  to  crawl,  if  he  can’t  walk,  and,  if  I was  his 
mamma,  I would  too ! Bless  him ! But  I must  not  write  on  him  any 
more — he  is  so  soft,  and  I have  nothing  but  steel  pens. 

And  now  good-bye;  Fanny  has  made  my  tea,  and  I mqst  drink  it 
before  it  gets  too  hot,  as  we  all  were  last  Sunday  week.  They  say  the 
glass  was  eighty-eight  in  the  shade,  which  is  a great  age ! The  last  fair 
breeze  I blew  dozens  of  kisses  for  you,  but  the  wind  changed  and  I am 
afraid  took  them  all  to  Miss  H or  somebody  that  it  should  n’t. 

Give  my  love  to  every  body  and  my  compliments  to  all  the  rest,  and 
remember  I am,  my  dear  May, 

Your  loving  friend,  Thomas  Hood. 

P.  S.  Do  n’t  forget  my  little  crab  to  dance  the  Polka ; and  pray  write 
to  me  as  soon  as  you  can’t,  if  it ’s  only  a line. 

In  July,  1844,  after  his  serious  illness,  he  went  to  Blackheath, 
where  his  health  was  greatly  improved.  After  a stay  of  two 
months  he  returned  to  London  and  resumed  the  management 
of  the  Magazine.  In  a note  to  Dr.  Elliot,  dated  July  20,  1844, 
he  writes:  “I  have  had  a little  more  spinning  material  in  the 
last  few  days  and  have  nearly  done  three  chapters.” 

To  the  secretaries  of  the  Manchester  Athenaeum,  who  had 
invited  him  to  a soiree , he  writes  a letter  dated  October  1,  1844: 

Dear  Sirs:  I should  sooner  have  answered  your  obliging  letter  and 
the  flattering  invitation  it  conveyed ; but  my  state  was  so  precarious  that 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


291 

it  seemed  presumptuous  without  a morning  certain  in  September  to  spec- 
ulate on  a soiree  in  October.  It  would  indeed  afford  me  very  great  pleas- 
ure to  be  present  at  the  meeting  on  the  3d,  but  really  I have  not  “man” 
or  “chest”  enough  for  Manchester;  and  as  for  Mr.  Disraeli,  might  as 
well  hope  for  an  introduction  to  Ben  Ledi  or  Ben  Nevis.  For  me  all 
long  journeys,  save  one,  are  over. 

In  the  month  of  October  he  was  again  very  ill.  Mrs.  Hood 
writes  to  De  Franck : 

He  is  now  in  the  midst  of  work  for  the  Magazine.  He  only  last  week 
resumed  the  labor  of  it.  A friend  did  it  for  him,  as  he  was  forbidden 
even  to  write,  though  he  did  break  through  the  injunction.  He  was 
more  seriously  ill  than  ever  I saw  him — for  three  weeks  in  extreme  dan- 
ger, three  physicians  attending.  Dr.  Elliot  came  daily  ten  miles  to  see 
him,  which  we  feel  was  an  extraordinary  act  of  friendship,  with  his 
extensive  practice  in  his  own  neighborhood.  Hood  suffered  dreadfully 
from  spasmodic  shortness  of  breath,  and  the  doctors  are  astonished  at  his 
recovery ; but  he  is  sadly  shaken  and  reduced  in  strength. 

In  a postscript  to  this  letter  Hood  adds: 

Dear  Johnny,  “ Jack ’s  alive ! ” Three  doctors  could  not  kill  me ; so 
I may  live  a year  or  two.  But  I almost  went  a-fishing  in  Lethe  for  for- 
gotten fishes.  You  talk  of  my  excess!  Why,  I am  hardly  allowed  table- 
beer  and  water,  and  never  go  out  to  balls!  Now  you  are  in  the  “John 
d’ armes,”  you  ought  to  come  and  take  a lesson  of  our  new  police,  who 
are  almost  as  military  as  yours,  and  more  civil,  I suspect.  If  you  want  a 
job,  you  shall  mount  guard  at  my  Magazine  and  fight  all  my  duels.  Ed- 
itors get  into  them  now  and  then.  I will  write  to  the  Prince. 

In  a letter  to  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton,  returning  thanks  for  a 
contribution  to  the  Magazine,  Hood  says : 

I resumed  the  management  of  the  Magazine  last  month,  from  which 
you  may  conclude  that  I am  better — as  well  probably  as  I ever  can  be, 
from  the  nature  of  my  complaints.  It  is  not  well,  perhaps,  for  me  to 
work  so  much  ; but  besides  the  necessity  for  exertion,  from  long  habit  my 
mind  refuses  to  be  passive,  and  seems  the  more  restless  from  my  inability 
to  exert  much  bodily  activity.  I sleep  little,  and  my  head,  instead  of  a 
shady  chamber,  is  like  a hall  with  a lamp  burning  in  it  all  night.  And 
so  it  will  be  to  the  end.  I must  “die  in  harness”  like  a Hero — ora 
horse. 


292 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Near  the  end  of  1844  some  friends  exerted  themselves  to 
procure  him  a pension,  and  a semi-official  notice  was  sent  to 
Hood,  desiring  him  to  name  one  of  his  female  relatives  on 
whom  a pension  might  be  conferred,  as  his  own  life  was  so 
very  precarious.  He  sent  by  Lord  Francis  Egerton  the  name 
of  his  wife.  The  letters  that  passed  between  him  and  Sir 
Robert  Peel  do  honor  to  both  the  men.  This  is  Hood’s  let- 
ter of  thanks: 

November,  1844. 

Sir  : In  your  comparative  leisure  at  Brighton,  if  a Prime  Minister  has 
even  comparative  leisure,  you  may  find  time  to  accept  and  taste  the  grate- 
ful acknowledgments  of  one  whom  you  have  served  from  motives  rarely 
attributed  to  such  Patrons. 

Complaints  have  been  often  made  of  the  neglect  of  literature  and 
literary  men  by  the  state  and  its  ministers.  I have  joined  in  them  myself, 
but  with  reference  to  authors  in  general — I am  quite  aware  of  my  own 
unfitness  for  any  of  those  posts  alluded  to  by  Mr.  Smythe  in  his  speech, 
especially  for  those  official  employments  which,  if  I had  any  ambition 
that  way,  I should  be  physically  unable  to  fulfil.  Almost  too  thin  to  rep- 
resent myself,  I should  make  a very  indifferent  ambassador,  consul,  or 
attache.  You  may  therefore  rely,  Sir,  on  my  entertaining  no  such  grati- 
tude for  “favours  to  come.” 

Such  impressions  have  occasionally  received  confirmation  from  un- 
lucky oversights,  such  as  I suppose  to  have  caused  the  omission  of 
“Literature”  from  the  Queen’s  answer  to  the  Civic  address,  in  which 
it  was  inserted.  An  unlucky  omission  I presume  to  say ; for  whatever 
differences  may  obtain  in  society,  that  will  be  an  unlucky  one  which 
distinguishes  a Sovereign  from  a reading  public,  rapidly  becoming  a 
reading  people. 

As  an  author,  I can  not  but  think  it  a good  omen  for  the  cause  that 
this  mark  of  your  favour  has  fallen  on  a writer  so  totally  unconnected 
with  party  politics  as  myself,  whose  favourite  theory  of  Government  is, 
“An  Angel  from  Pleaven  and  a Despotism.” 

As  a man,  I am  deeply  sensible  of  a consideration  and  kindness  which 
have  made  this  “work-a-day”  world  more  park-like  to  me  as  well  as  to 
the  people  of  Manchester,  and  will  render  the  poor  remnant  of  my  life 
much  happier  and  easier  than  it  could  be  with  the  prospect  that  was 
before  me. 

My  humble  name  has  sufficiently  occupied  your  thoughts  already,  yet 
may  it,  with  its  pleasanter  associations,  recur  to  you  whenever  you  meet 
with  a discontented  partisan  or  a political  ingrate ! 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


293 


Lord  F.  Egerton,  having  kindly  offered  to  convey  my  acceptance  and 
choice  to  you,  I have  forwarded  them,  but  could  not  resist  the  direct 
expression  of  my  sentiments  as  to  a “Premier  pas”  which,  instead  of 
“costing,”  enriches  me.  I have  the  honour  to  be,  &c., 

Thomas  Hood. 

Sir  Robert  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  this  letter  in  the 
following  kind  manner: 

Brighton,  November  io,  1844. 

Sir  : I am  more  than  repaid  by  the  personal  satisfaction  which  I have 
had  in  doing  that  for  which  you  return  me  warm  and  characteristic 
acknowledgments. 

You  perhaps  think  that  you  are  known  to  one  with  such  multifarious 
occupations  as  myself  merely  by  general  reputation  as  an  author ; but  I 
assure  you  that  there  can  be  little  which  you  have  written  and  acknowl- 
edged which  I have  not  read ; and  that  there  are  few  who  can  appreciate 
and  admire  more  than  myself  the  good  sense  and  good  feeling  which  have 
taught  you  to  infuse  so  much  fun  and  merriment  into  writings  correcting 
folly  and  exposing  absurdities,  and  yet  never  trespassing  beyond  those 
limits  within  which  wit  and  facetiousness  are  not  very  often  confined. 
You  may  write  on  with  the  consciousness  of  independence,  as  free  and 
unfettered  as  if  no  communication  had  ever  passed  between  us.  I am 
not  conferring  a private  obligation  upon  you,  but  am  fulfilling  the  inten- 
tions of  the  Legislature,  which  has  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  Crown  a 
certain  sum  (miserable,  indeed,  in  amount)  to  be  applied  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  public  claims  on  the  Bounty  of  the  Crown.  If  you  will  review 
the  names  of  those  whose  claims  have  been  admitted  on  account  of  their 
literary  or  scientific  eminence,  you  will  find  an  ample  confirmation  of  the 
truth  of  my  statement. 

One  return,  indeed,  I shall  ask  of  you  — that  you  will  give  me  the 
opportunity  of  making  your  personal  acquaintance. 

Believe  me  to  be  faithfully  yours,  Robert  Peel. 

Sir  Robert  sent  the  formal  announcement  of  the  Queen’s 
approval  of  the  pension  by  his  servant.  Hood  writes  to  Dr. 
Elliot : 

Dear  Doctor  : Sir  R.  Peel  came  up  from  Burleigh  on  Tuesday  night 
and  went  down  to  Brighton  on  Saturday.  If  he  had  written  by  post,  I 
should  not  have  had  it  till  to-day  [Monday].  So  he  sent  his  servant  with 
the  following  [the  announcement  of  the  Queen’s  approval]  on  Saturday 
night}  another  mark  of  considerate  attention ! 


294 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Hood  wrote  to  acknowledge  Sir  Robert’s  kindness: 

November,  1844. 

Sir  : I have  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  very  gratifying  com- 
munication and  the  considerate  kindness  which  provided  for  my  receiving 
it  on  Saturday  night.  If  it  be  well  to  be  remembered  at  all  by  a minister, 
it  is  better  still  not  to  be  forgotten  by  him  in  a “hurly  Burleigh ! ” 

I am  so  inexperienced  a pensioner  (unlike  the  father  of  a friend  of 
mine,  who  was  made  in  his  infancy  a superannuated  postman)  as  to  be 
quite  ignorant  of  the  etiquette  of  such  cases;  but,  in  the  absence  of 
knowledge,  I feel  that  it  would  be  quite  proper  to  thank  the  Queen  for 
her  gracious  approval.  May  I request  of  your  goodness,  at  a fit  oppor- 
tunity, to  lay  my  humble  and  grateful  acknowledgments  at  Her  Majesty’s 
feet,  with  the  respectful  assurance  that  a man,  who  has  lived  conscious  of 
his  good  name  being  the  better  part  of  his  children’s  inheritance,  will 
never  disgrace  the  royal  favour. 

Your  letter  of  the  10th  inst.,  which  is  deposited  amongst  my  literary 
heir-looms,  I hesitated  to  answer,  partly  because  it  gave  rise  to  feelings 
which  would  keep  without  congealing,  and  partly  from  knowing  edito- 
rially the  oppression  of  too  many  “Communications  from  Correspond- 
ents.” But  I may  say  here  how  extremely  flattered  I am  by  your  liberal 
praise  and  handsome  judgment  of  my  writings;  nearly  all  of  which  you 
must  have  seen,  if  you  have  read  the  acknowledged  ones.  The  anony- 
mous only  comprise  a few  trifles  and  reviews ; and  even  against  these,  as 
a set-off,  I have  had  my  name  affixed  to  some  pieces  I had  not  written, 
for  example  a poem  on  the  Sale  of  the  Stud  of  the  late  King  William. 

As  you  have  done  me  the  high  honour  to  seek,  beyond  this,  my  per- 
sonal acquaintance,  I can  only  say  I shall  be  most  proud  and  happy  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  waiting  on  you  at  your  convenience. 

I have  the  honour  to  be,  Sir,  your  most  obedient  servant, 

Thomas  Hood. 

The  year  1845  found  the  great-hearted  sufferer  confined  to 
the  bed  from  which  he  was  never  more  to  rise,  except  to  be 
propped  up  for  a few  moments  in  an  easy-chair.  The  chapter 
in  the  “ Memorials”  which  gives  an  account  of  the  last  days  of 
the  loving  and  beloved  father  and  husband  few  can  read  with- 
out tears.  His  daughter  says : 

The  Christmas  number  of  the  Magazine  had  come  out,  sparkling  with 
fun  and  merriment.  “Mrs.  Peck’s  Pudding”  and  its  grotesque  illustra- 
tions afforded  seasonable  Christmas  amusement  at  all  firesides  but  its 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


295 


author’s.  His  own  family  never  enjoyed  his  quaint  and  humorous  fan- 
cies, for  they  were  all  associated  with  memories  of  illness  and  anxiety. 
Although  “Hood’s  Comic  Annual,”  as  he  himself  used  to  remark  with 
pleasure,  was  in  every  house  seized  upon  and  almost  worn  out  by  the  fre- 
quent handling  of  little  fingers,  his  own  children  did  not  enjoy  it  till  the 
lapse  of  many  years  had  mercifully  softened  down  some  of  the  sad  recol- 
lections connected  with  it.  The  only  article  that  I can  remember  we  ever 
really  thoroughly  enjoyed  was  “Mrs.  Gardiner,  a Horticultural  Romance,” 
and  even  this  was  composed  in  bed.  But  the  illness  he  was  then  suffering 
from  was  only  rheumatic  fever,  not  one  of  his  dangerous  attacks,  and  he 
was  unusually  cheerful.  He  sat  up  in  bed,  dictating  it  to  my  mother, 
interrupted  by  our  bursts  of  irrepressible  laughter  as  joke  after  joke  came 
from  his  lips,  he  all  the  while  laughing  and  relishing  it  as  much  as  we 
did.  But  this  was  a rare,  indeed  almost  solitary,  instance ; for  he  could 
not  usually  write  so  well  at  any  time  as  at  night,  when  all  the  house  was 
quiet.  Our  family  rejoicings  were  generally  when  the  work  was  over, 
and  we  were  too  thankful  to  be  rid  of  the  harass  and  hurry  to  care  much 
for  the  results  of  such  labor. 

At  the  time  of  this  last  Christmas  (a  memorable  one  to  us)  my  father, 
having  painfully  and  laboriously  finished  his  allotted  task,  took  to  his 
bed,  from  which  he  was  never  more  to  arise,  except  as  a mere  temporary 
refreshment  to  sit  up  in  an  easy-chair,  propped  by  pillows  and  wrapped 
in  blankets.  On  Christmas  day  he  crawled  out,  for  our  sakes  more  than 
his  own,  into  a little  dressing-room  next  to  his  bed-room  for  a few  hours ; 
but  it  was  a painful  mockery  of  enjoyment.  The  cheerful  spirit  that  had 
struggled  so  long  and  so  bravely  with  adverse  circumstances  and  compli- 
cated diseases  was  quelled  at  last ; and  he  scarcely  attempted  to  appear 
cheerful.  ....  Now  he  saw  that  a few  months — possibly  a few 
weeks — must  end  his  labours  and  his  sufferings  and  his  life  with  them. 
This  he  could  not  but  feel  keenly  when  he  saw  that  this  was  the  last 
Christmas  we  were  all  to  share  in  this  world. 

In  intervals  of  comparative  freedom  from  pain  he  had  him- 
self propped  up  in  bed  and  wrote  some  chapters  of  “Our 
Family  ” for  the  January  and  February  numbers  of  the  Maga- 
zine. In  the  February  number  appeared  the  following  beautiful 

STANZAS. 

Farewell  Life ! my  senses  swim, 

And  the  world  is  growing  dim ; 

Thronging  shadows  cloud  the  light, 

Like  the  advent  of  the  night, — 


296 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Colder,  colder,  colder  still, 

Upward  steals  a vapor  chill ; 

Strong  the  earthy  odor  grows — 

I smell  the  Mould  above  the  Rose! 

Welcome  Life!  The  Spirit  strives! 

Strength  returns,  and  hope  revives  ; 

Cloudy  fears  and  shapes  forlorn 
Fly  like  shadows  at  the  morn, — 

O’er  the  earth  there  comes  a bloom, 

Sunny  light  for  sullen  gloom, 

Warm  perfume  for  vapors  cold — 

I smell  the  Rose  above  the  Mould ! 

The  rose  was  destined  to  rise  above  the  mould  only  in  another 
clime.  He  had  been  more  than  once,  as  he  said  himself,  “so 
near  Death’s  door  that  he  could  almost  fancy  he  could  hear  the 
creaking  of  the  hinges.”  Now,  knowing  that  his  feeble  step 
was  on  the  very  threshold,  he  wrote  the  following  letter  to 
Sir  Robert  Peel: 

Devonshire  Lodge,  New  Finchley  Road. 

Dear  Sir  : We  are  not  to  meet  in  the  flesh.  Given  over  by  my  phy- 
sicians and  by  myself,  I am  only  kept  alive  by  frequent  installments  of 
mulled  port  wine.  In  this  extremity  I feel  a comfort,  for  which  I can  not 
refrain  from  again  thanking  you  with  all  the  sincerity  of  a dying  man — 
and,  at  the  same  time,  bidding  you  a respectful  farewell. 

Thank  God  my  mind  is  composed  and  my  reason  undisturbed,  but  my 
race  as  an  author  is  run.  My  physical  debility  finds  no  tonic  virtue  in  a 
steel  pen,  otherwise  I would  have  written  one  more  paper — a forewarning 
one — against  an  evil,  or  the  danger  of  it,  arising  from  a literary  move- 
ment in  which  I have  had  some  share,  a one-sided  humanity,  opposite  to 
that  catholic  Shakespearean  sympathy  which  felt  with  King  as  well  as 
Peasant,  and  duly  estimated  the  moral  temptations  of  both  stations. 

Certain  classes  at  the  poles  of  society  are  already  too  far  asunder;  it 
should  be  the  duty  of  our  writers  to  draw  them  nearer  by  kindly  attrac- 
tion, and  not  aggravate  the  existing  repulsion  and  place  a wider  moral 
gulf  between  Rich  and  Poor,  with  Hate  on  the  one  side  and  Fear  on  the 
other.  But  I am  too  weak  for  this  task,  the  last  I had  set  myself.  It  is 
death  that  stops  my  pen,  you  see,  and  not  the  pension. 

God  bless  you,  sir,  and  prosper  all  your  measures  for  the  benefit  of 
my  beloved  country.  I have  the  honour  to  be,  Sir, 

Your  most  grateful  and  obedient  servant,  Thomas  Hood. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


297 


Sir  Robert  replied  in  the  following  note: 

Whitehall. 

Dear  Sir  : I must  write  one  line  to  express  an  earnest  hope  that  it 
will  please  God  to  restore  you  to  health  and  strength;  and  that  you  may 
be  enabled  to  apply  your  unimpaired  faculties  to  the  inculcation  of  those 
just  and  really  benevolent  doctrines  which  are  shadowed  out  in  the  letter 
you  have  addressed  to  me.  With  my  best  wishes,  believe  me, 

Dear  sir,  faithfully  yours,  Robert  Peel. 

Hood’s  devoted  friend,  Mr.  Ward,  edited  the  Magazine  for 
him.  In  the  number  for  March  appeared  the  following: 

We  can  hardly  congratulate  our  readers  on  presenting  them  this 
month  with  an  effigy  of  Thomas  Hood’s  outward  features  instead  of  that 
portraiture  of  his  mind  and  those  traces  of  his  kindly  heart  which  he  has 
been  wont  with  his  own  pen  to  draw  in  these  pages.  And  we  lament 
still  more  that  we  must  add  a regret  to  the  disappointment  of  our  readers 
by  communicating  to  them  the  sad  tidings  that  the  aching  original  of  that 
pictured  brow  is  again  laid  low  by  dangerous  illness,  again  scarred  (to 
use  an  expression  of  his  own)  “by  the  crooked  autograph  of  pain.” 
Through  many  a previous  paroxysm  of  his  malady,  when  life  and  death 
hung  trembling  in  the  balance,  Mr.  Hood  has  worked  on  steadily  for  our 
instruction  and  amusement,  throwing  often  into  a humorous  chapter  or 
an  impassioned  poem  the  power  which  was  needed  to  restore  exhausted 
nature.  During  the  past  month,  however,  his  physical  strength  has  com- 
pletely given  way ; and  almost  as  much  through  incapacity  of  his  hand 
to  hold  the  pen  as  of  his  brain  for  any  length  of  time  to  guide  it,  he  has 
at  last  been  compelled  to  desist  from  composition.  Those  in  whom  ad- 
miration of  the  writer  has  induced  also  a friendly  feeling  toward  the  man 
will  have  some  consolation  in  learning  that  amidst  his  sufferings,  which 
have  been  severe,  his  cheerful  philosophy  has  never  failed  him ; but  that 
around  his  sick  bed,  as  in  his  writings  and  in  his  life,  he  has  known  how 
to  lighten  the  melancholy  of  those  about  him  and  to  mingle  laughter 
with  their  tears.  We  have  thought  it  due  to  our  readers  and  the  public 
thus  briefly  to  make  known  that  Mr.  Hood  is  more  seriously  ill  than  even 
he  has  ever  been  before,  avoiding  to  express  any  hopes  or  forebodings  of 
our  own  or  to  prejudge  the  uncertain  issues  of  life  and  death. 

All  that  the  warmest  friendship  could  do  was  done  for  him. 
Loving  friends  were  ready  to  write  for  him,  even  literary  men 
who  were  pressed  for  time.  Old  and  new  friends  alike  came 
to  see  him,  expressing  their  sympathy  and  bidding  him  farewell. 


298 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


And  for  all  he  had  kind  and  cheerful  words.  Game,  wine,  and 
fruit  were  sent  to  tempt  his  appetite,  even  unknown  persons 
giving  evidence  of  thoughtful  kindness.  As  one  instance 
among  many,  a note  came,  written  in  a feigned  hand,  con- 
taining a bank-note  for  jQ 20  and  these  words:  “A  SHIRT! 
and  a sincere  wish  for  health.”  His  daughter  says : 

The  very  neighbors  (in  London,  where  next-door  neighbors  are  almost 
sure  to  be  strangers)  were  kind  and  interested,  one  gentleman  sending  in 
his  coachman  almost  daily  to  lift  the  poor  invalid  tc  his  chair ; and  others 
knocking  on  the  wall,  on  hearing  any  unusual  disturbance  at  night,  to 
offer  help.  One  lady  sent  violets  from  the  country  to  place  by  his  bed- 
side, hearing  he  loved  the  perfume  of  these  little  flowers.  All  these  kind 
offices  touched  his  grateful  heart  most  deeply,  at  times  almost  to  tears ; 
and  if  these  pages  should  ever  come  before  any  of  those  who  performed 
them,  it  may  be  some  pleasure  to  know  of  the  soothing  consolation  and 
pleasure  they  afforded  the  dying  man  and  the  gratitude  his  children  will 
never  cease  to  feel  toward  them. 

An  engraving  had  been  made  from  a bust  executed  by  Mr. 
Edward  Davis,  and  Hood  sent  impressions  from  the  engraving 
to  many  friends  as  dying  legacies.  On  each  copy  he  wrote  at 
intervals,  as  he  found  strength  to  sit  up  in  bed,  his  name  and  a 
few  kind  words.  His  daughter  writes : 

His  presence  of  mind  was  remarkable ; as  his  was,  I think,  naturally, 
and  eventually  from  illness,  a nervous  nature.  One  night  I was  sitting 
up  with  him,  my  mother  having  gone  to  rest  for  a few  hours,  worn  out 
with  fatigue.  He  was  seized,  about  twelve  o’clock,  with  one  of  his 
alarming  attacks  of  hemorrhage  from  the  lungs.  When  it  had  for  a mo- 
ment ceased  he  motioned  for  paper  and  pencil,  and  asked  if  I was  too 
much  frightened  to  stay  with  him.  I was  too  much  used  to  it  now,  and 
on  my  replying  “No,”  he  quietly  and  calmly  wrote  his  wishes  and  direc- 
tions on  a slip  of  paper,  as  deliberately  as  if  it  was  an  ordinary  matter. 
He  forbade  me  to  disturb  my  mother.  When  the  doctor  came  and  ordered 
ice  to  be  applied,  my  father  wrote  to  remind  me  of  a pond  close  by  where 
ice  could  be  procured;  nor  did  he  forget  to  add  a hint  for  refreshments  to 
be  prepared  for  the  surgeon,  who  was  to  wait  some  hours  to  watch  the 
case.  This  was  in  the  midst  of  a very  sudden  and  dangerous  attack 
which  was  at  the  time  almost  supposed  to  be  his  last. 

No  words  can  describe  his  patience  and  resignation  amidst  all  the 
fierce  sufferings  of  the  last  month  or  two  of  his  dying,  as  he  said  himself, 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


299 


“inch  by  inch.”  In  the  intervals  between  the  terrible  agonies  that  racked 
that  exhausted  frame  he  talked  quite  calmly  to  us  all  of  our  future  plans, 
and  what  he  wished  to  be  done.  At  times  we  were  obliged  to  leave  him 
for  the  purpose  of  trying  to  check  the  emotions  that  overpowered  us. 
With  such  an  example  before  us,  we  were  obliged  to  keep  brave  hearts 
and  cheerful  countenances.  It  was  a difficult  task ; but  the  beloved  suf- 
ferer was  the  first  to  exhort  and  console  us.  My  dear  mother  bore  up 
with  all  the  strength  of  a true  woman’s  devotion,  and  with  a calmness 
that  after  the  necessity  of  control  was  over  reacted  fatally  on  her  worn- 
out  frame. 

It  was  a lovely  spring,  and  my  father  loved  to  see  and  feel  all  he  could 
of  it,  drinking  in  his  last  measure  of  sunshine  and  fresh  air  more  eagerly 
than  he  used  to  do.  He  always  loved  all  nature  like  a child  and,  I think, 
possessed  to  the  full  that  rare  faculty  of  enjoyment  which  even  a clear 
day  or  a beautiful  flower  can  bring  to  a finely  sensitive  mind,  which,  if  it 
suffers  keenly  enjoys  keenly  as  well.  He  said  once  to  us,  “It ’s  a beauti- 
ful world,  and  since  I have  been  lying  here  I have  thought  of  it  more 
and  more.  It  is  not  so  bad,  even  humanly  speaking,  as  people  would 
make  it  out.  I have  had  some  very  happy  days  while  I lived  in  it,  and  I 
could  have  wished  to  stay  a little  longer.  But  it  is  all  for  the  best,  and 
we  shall  all  meet  in  a better  world.” 

In  his  illness  he  was  at  times  delirious  with  pain,  though  his 
mind  was  ordinarily  tranquil.  His  daughter  says : 

We  shall  never  forget  one  night,  when  his  mind  was  wandering  in 
this  way,  his  repeating  Lady  Nairne’s  lovely  words: 

I ’m  wearin’  awa’,  Jean, 

Like  snaw-wreaths  in  thaw,  Jean; 

I ’m  wearin’  awa’ 

To  the  land  of  the  leal. 

How  fare  ye  well,  my  ain  Jean, 

This  warld’s  cares  are  vain,  Jean; 

We  ’ll  meet,  and  aye  be  fain, 

In  the  land  of  the  leal. 

On  the  Thursday  evening,  May  1st,  he  seemed  worse;  and,  knowing 
himself  to  be  dying,  he  called  us  around  him  — my  mother,  my  little 
brother,  who  was  just  ten  years  old,  and  myself.  He  gave  us  his  last 
blessing  tenderly  and  fondly;  and  then  gently  clasping  my  mother’s 
hand,  he  said,  “Remember,  Jane,  I forgive  all,  all  as  I hope  to  be  for- 
given!” He  lay  for  some  time  calmly  and  peacefully,  but  breathing 
slowly  and  with  difficulty.  My  mother  bending  over  him  heard  him  say 


3°° 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


faintly,  “O  Lord!  say  ‘Arise,  take  up  thy  cross  and  follow  me.’”  His 
last  words  were,  “Dying,  dying,”  as  if  glad  to  realize  the  rest  implied  in 
them.  He  then  sank  into  what  seemed  a deep  slumber.  This  torpor 
lasted  all  Friday;  and  on  Saturday  at  noon  he  breathed  his  last  without 
a struggle  or  a sigh. 

May  was  an  eventful  month  to  him.  He  was  born  on  the 
23d  of  May,  1799;  married  on  the  5th  of  May,  1824;  and  he 
died  on  the  3d  of  May,  1845.  He  was  buried  on  the  10th. 

Mrs.  Broderip,  referring  to  her  father’s  exile  to  Coblenz  and 
Ostend,  says: 

But  for  his  exile  to  these  countries — an  exile  which  he  underwent  for 
the  faults  of  others — he  might  still  be  delighting  the  world  with  the  later 
fruit  of  a genius  that  had  barely  attained  its  maturity  at  the  time  of  his 
death. 

Her  father  had,  no  doubt,  seen  some  of  those  “ others  ” pros- 
pering “in  this  world’s  goods”  while  he  on  a bed  of  sickness 
was  wearing  out  his  life  in  efforts  to  discharge  the  debts  into 
which  they  had  plunged  him.  In  “Tylney  Hall”  is  a vigorous 
protest  against  the  doctrine  that  “honesty  is  the  best  policy,” 
this  world  only  being  considered.  After  relating  the  death  of 
Sir  Mark  Tyrrel  he  says: 

Thus  fell  the  head  of  this  devoted  house,  the  last  main  obstacle  that 
had  interposed  between  the  Creole  and  his  guilty  object.  In  some  minds 
such  a consummation  would  almost  incur  a denial,  or  at  least  a doubting, 
of  Providence,  looking  at  the  inequality  of  the  dispensation.  But  poet- 
ical justice  is  one  of  the  merest  fictions,  and  consists,  as  the  term  imports, 
rather  with  Utopian  views  than  with  the  real  rugged  course  of  human 
life.  To  place  virtue  or  vice  in  one  scale,  and  an  adequate  portion  of 
good  or  evil  as  reward  and  punishment  in  the  other,  may  produce  food 
meet  for  babes;  but  the  picture  has  little  reference  to  the  true  course  of 
events  in  this  variegated  world,  where  the  base  and  bad  rejoice  and  revel 
in  the  high  places,  whilst  excellence  mourns  in  the  dust.  Honesty  begs 
for  bread,  and  knavery  prospers,  adding  houses  to  houses  and  land  to 
land.  The  just  suffer,  while  the  unjust  judge  is  in  ermine.  Folly  rules, 
and  Wisdom  pines  unheard.  Vanity  is  caressed  at  the  expense  of  genius, 
and  sanctimonious  hypocrisy  tramples  on  humble  piety.  The  mortal  bal- 
ance, indeed,  preponderates  in  favor  of  the  wicked.  It  follows  necessa- 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


3°i 


rily  that  the  unscrupulous  man,  who  justifies  all  means  by  the  end  and 
rejects  neither  fraud  nor  cruelty  when  they  conduce  to  his  purpose,  must 
arrive  more  frequently,  and  by  a shorter  path,  at  his  object,  than  the 
conscientious  one  who  will  not  strain  a principle  or  deviate  one  step  from 
the  line  of  rectitude.  Thus  wealth,  power,  and  worldly  honor  are  apt  to 
become  the  prizes  of  the  crafty  and  the  violent,  the  corrupt  and  the  de- 
praved, the  swindler,  the  perjurer,  and  the  tamperer  with  blood.  Hence 
such  anomalous  awards  as  the  traitor’s  death  to  the  patriot,  the  felon’s 
imprisonment  to  the  honest  debtor,  and  persecution  and  poverty  to  the 
benefactor  of  mankind.  The  child,  however,  is  taught  by  his  copy-book 
that  “Virtue  is  its  own  Reward;”  every  volume  in  his  juvenile  library 
not  only  inculcates  the  same  principle,  but  holds  out  a direct  promise  of 
an  equitable  adjustment  in  this  world,  which  is  only  to  be  looked  for  in 
another.  An  absurd  system,  by  which,  instead  of  being  forearmed  and 
forewarned  by  a practical  prospect  of  the  trials  to  come,  the  good  boy 
grows  up  a good  man,  and  is  astonished  to  find  himself,  instead  of  being 
even  a silver-gilt  Whittington,  a contemned  object,  walking  the  world 
barefoot  and  penniless,  with  the  reward  of  virtue  hanging  upon  his  neck 
in  the  likeness  of  one  of  those  tin  or  pewter  medals  of  merit  that  used  to 
decorate  him  at  his  academy.  This  is  an  evil  in  our  literature  that  de- 
mands correction.  As  our  preparatory  schooling  is  chiefly  derived  from 
the  writings  and  the  teaching  of  the  female  sex,  it  would  be  well  if  the 
school-mistress  would  go  abroad  with  the  school-master  and  pick  up  some 
principle  of  conduct  for  youth  superior  to  the  selfish  servile  one  of  the 
puppy,  who  is  conscious  of  the  breaker  behind  his  heels,  with  a dog-whip 
in  one  hand  and  a piece  of  liver  in  the  other. 

The  body  was  buried  in  Kensal  Green  Cemetery.  Eighteen 
months  afterward  his  devoted  wife,  worn  down  by  the  labor 
she  had  undergone  in  his  sickness  and  by  grief  for  his  loss,  was 
buried  by  his  side. 

In  1852  the  grave  of  Thomas  Hood  was  without  a tomb- 
stone. Some  lines  by  Miss  Eliza  Cook  drew  attention  to  this 
fact,  and  “ what  the  children  of  Thomas  Hood  had  long  planned 
to  do  in  a modest  and  unpretending  manner  was  undertaken  by 
the  public.”  In  numerous  letters  to  Miss  Cook  a public  sub- 
scription was  suggested,  and  after  a time  a committee  was 
appointed.  This  committee  performed  its  duties  well.  Noble- 
men, members  of  Parliament,  men  of  letters,  old  friends  and 
acquaintances  gave  their  aid,  and  the  people  added  their  shil- 


3°2 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


lings  and  pence.  At  the  commencement  of  1853  sculptors 
were  invited  to  furnish  designs,  and  Mr.  Matthew  Noble’s  de- 
sign was  selected  by  the  committee.  On  the  18th  of  July, 
1854,  the  completed  monument  was  unveiled,  and  a speech 
was  made  by  Richard  Monckton  Milnes  (Lord  Houghton). 

In  the  elegant  edition  of  Hood’s  prose  works  edited  by 
Epes  Sargent  there  is  an  engraving  representing  a writer  with 
what  seems  to  be  a serious  face,  holding  up  before  his  face  a 
laughing  mask;  the  intended  idea  seeming  to  be  that  the  comic 
was  not  natural  to  Hood.  The  engraving  does  not  express  the 
truth;  the  comic  was  as  natural  to  him  as  was  the  serious.  He 
overflowed  with  fun.  He  enjoyed  playing  harmless  practical 
jokes  on  his  lovely  wife,  who  bore  them  with  the  sweetest  tem- 
per. Whenever  she  was  taken  in  she  said  she  would  never  be 
taken  in  again;  but  such  was  her  thorough  confidence  in  him 
that  she  was  taken  in  at  each  successive  time  as  easily  as  at  the 
first.  From  the  character  of  this  amiable  woman  it  may  be  half 
suspected  that  to  please  her  husband,  so  fond  of  his  joke,  she 
sometimes  pretended  to  be  taken  in  when  she  understood  the 
whole  thing. 

Soon  after  their  marriage,  having  been  ordered  to  Brighton 
for  his  health,  as  has  been  mentioned,  he  told  his  wife  that, 
having  had  a good  deal  of  experience  of  the  sea,  he  would 
give  her  some  advice  about  buying  fish.  “Above  all  things, 
Jane,  as  they  will  endeavor  to  impose  upon  your  inexperience, 
let  nothing  induce  you  to  buy  a plaice  that  has  any  appearance 
of  red  or  orange  spots,  as  such  spots  are  sure  signs  of  an  ad- 
vanced stage  of  decomposition.”  Red  spots,  “as,”  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Carlyle,  “is  known  to  several,”  being  characteristic 
of  the  living  plaice.  When  the  fish-woman  came  she  had  very 
little  except  plaice ; and  these  she  turned  over  and  over,  prais- 
ing their  size  and  freshness.  When  Mrs.  Hood  hinted  a doubt 
of  their  freshness  the  woman  said  they  were  not  long  out  of  the 
water,  having  been  caught  that  morning.  Mrs.  Hood  gravely 
shook  her  head,  mildly  observing,  “ My  good  woman,  it  may  be 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


303 


as  you  say;  but  I could  not  think  of  buying  any  plaice  with 
those  very  unpleasant  red  spots.”  “Lord  bless  your  eyes, 
mum!”  shouted  the  woman,  “who  ever  seed  any  without 
’em ! ” A suppressed  giggle  on  the  stairs  revealed  the  per- 
petrator of  the  joke.  Hood  rushed  off  in  a paroxysm  of 
laughter,  leaving  his  wife  to  appease  the  angry  woman  as  she 
could. 

The  story  of  the  skewered  plum-pudding  is  related  in  one 
of  Mrs.  Hood’s  letters  to  Mrs.  Elliot;  also  in  the  same  letter 
the  joke  about  making  potted  beef  by  chewing.  These  little 
things  gave  rise  to  many  a joke  and  much  “unextinguished 
laughter,”  the  remembrance  of  which  caused  frequent  allusion 
to  them  in  conversation  and  letters. 

The  following  extracts  will  show  Hood’s  own  opinion.  In 
a letter  from  Ostend  to  De  Franck  he  says: 

For  the  fun  of  the  thing  I must  tell  you  there  has  been  a short  memoir 
of  me  published.  You  will  judge  how  well  the  author  knows  me  when 
he  says,  “ We  believe  his  mind  to  be  more  serious  than  comic;  we  have 
never  known  him  to  laugh  heartily  either  in  company  or  in  rhyme.”  But 
my  Methodist  face  took  him  in;  for  he  says,  “The  countenance  of  Mr. 
Hood  is  more  solemn  than  merry.” 

In  a letter  from  Ostend  to  Dr.  Elliot,  he  says: 

I was  amused  at  a remark  of  old  Dr.  Jansen’s  (for  he  is  quite  a vet- 
eran). I said  my  sedentary  profession  was  against  me*  And  when  he 
understood  it  was  literary,  “Ah!”  said  he,  with  a glance  at  a thin,  yel- 
lowish face,  “a  serious  writer,  of  course.”  Akin  to  this,  I one  day  over- 
heard a dispute  between  Tom  and  Fanny  as  to  what  I was.  “ Pa ’s  a 
literary  man,”  said  Fanny.  “ He ’s  not ! ” said  Tom ; “I  know  what  he 
is.”  “What  is  he,  then?”  “Why,”  says  Tom,  “he’s  not  a literary 
man — he ’s  an  invalid.” 


The  serious  character  was  as  natural  to  him  as  was  the 
comic.  He  says  himself, 

There  is  no  music  in  the  life 

That  sounds  with  idiot  laughter  solely. 


3°4 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


In  a letter  from  Coblenz  to  Mr.  Dilke,  dated  June  20,  1836,  he 
writes : 

Jane  goes  all  lengths  with  me  in  her  love,  and  so  does  Fanny,  and  so 
would  Hood,  Jun.,  if  he  could  as  he  should.  The  manoeuvres  will  begin 
the  last  week  in  August,  and  then  the  King  will  be  here;  so,  dear  Mrs. 
Dilke,  mind  you  keep  Dilke  in  marching  order.  I have  only  post  time  to 
add  God  bless  you  all  in  my  more  serious  style,  which  some  prefer  to  my 
comic,  and  Jane  says  Amen  religiously,  though  she  has  fished  of  a Sunday. 
She  denies  it ; and  I believe  it  is  an  error — she  only  went  to  an  equestrian 

play.* 

Most  persons  are  like  “some,”  preferring  his  more  “ seri- 
ous” style  to  his  “comic.”  There  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  the 
pressure  of  circumstances  that  led  him  to  write  more  in  the 
“comic”  than  in  the  “serious”  style.  He  was  anxious  to  pay 
his  debts,  and  he  thought  the  “ comic  ” style  would  take  better 
with  the  public.  It  was  natural  for  him  to  mingle  the  two 
styles,  and  in  “Tylney  Hall”  he  gives  his  reasons: 

There  is  an  old  saying  that  extremes  meet,  and  no  adage  can  be  more 
strikingly  verified  than  this  is  in  human  life  by  the  frequent  encounter  of 
the  serious  and  the  ludicrous  on  the  same  occasion.  There  can  not  be  a 
more  erroneous  notion  than  that  popular  one  which  appropriates  to  mirth 
and  grief  each  its  own  peculiar  stage,  like  the  Parisian  theatres,  where 
one  house  is  devoted  to  tragedy  and  another  to  comedy;  whereas  the 
world  is  a vast  stage,  whereon  tragedy,  comedy,  and  farce  are  not  only 

acting  at  once,  but  sometimes  by  the  same  performer Even 

thus  closely  lie  the  domains  of  laughter  and  tears,  divided  not  by  an  im- 
passable frontier,  as  some  suppose,  but  dubiously  separated  by  a debatable 
land,  leaving  easy  access  to  either  territory,  and  of  course  subjecting  the 
rival  kingdoms  to  frequent  incursions.  Thus  tears  are  seen  at  festivals, 
and  smiles  at  funerals;  nay,  laughter,  in  the  writer’s  experience,  has 
mingled  with  lamentation  in  the  chamber  of  death.  Nevertheless  even 
Shakespeare,  the  best  judge  of  man  next  to  his  Maker,  and  the  best 
acquainted  with  the  human  heart,  has  been  moused  at  by  some  of  his 
owlish  critics  for  his  abrupt  transitions  from  the  pathetic  to  the  humorous, 
as  if  such  were  not  the  very  warp  and  woof  of  our  variegated  fabric. 
These  alternations*  of  lights  and  shadows  are  imperatively  necessary  to  a 
faithful  picture  of  life;  but  it  is  sometimes  made  a cause  of  reproach  to 


*This  of  course  is  Hood’s  joke;  it  is  like  saying,  “She  did  not  steal — she  only 
committed  murder.” 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


3°5 


the  painter  that  he  should  be  accessible  at  a tragical  occurrence  to  any 
livelier  associations,  as  if  the  same  tearful  eye  that  appreciates  the  sor- 
rows of  the  inmates  of  a house  of  mourning  should  see  nothing  but 
melancholy  in  the  smirks  of  the  two  smug  mutes  at  the  door. 

In  the  preface  to  the  “ National  Tales,”  most  of  which  are 
of  a serious  character,  Hood  says : 

The  serious  character  of  the  generality  of  the  stories  is  a deviation 
from  my  former  attempts,  and  I have  received  advice  enough  on  that 
account  to  make  me  present  them  with  some  misgiving.  But  because  I 
have  jested  elsewhere  it  does  not  follow  that  I am  incompetent  for  grav- 
ity, of  which  any  owl  is  capable;  or  proof  against  melancholy,  which 
besets  even  the  ass.  Those  who  can  be  touched  by  neither  of  these 
moods  rank  lower,  indeed,  than  both  these  creatures.  It  is  from  none  of 
the  player’s  ambition,  which  has  led  the  buffoon  by  a rash  step  into  the 
tragic  buskin,  that  I assume'  the  sadder  humor,  but  because  I know  from 
certain  passages  that  such  affections  are  not  foreign  to  my  nature.  During 
my  short  lifetime  I have  often  been  as  “sad  as  night,”  and  not,  like  the 
young  gentlemen  from  France,  merely  from  wantonness.  It  is  the  con- 
trast of  such  leaden  and  golden  fits  that  lends  a double  relish  to  our 
days.  A life  of  mere  laughter  is  like  music  without  its  bass,  or  a picture 
(conceive  it)  of  vague  unmitigated  light ; whereas  the  occasional  melan- 
choly, like  those  grand,  rich  glooms  of  old  Rembrandt,  produces  an 
incomparable  effect  and  a very  grateful  relief.” 

It  is  only  a master  that  can  venture  to  follow  Shakespeare 
and  nature.  It  wrill  be  remembered  that  in  “The  Antiquary” 
Sir  Walter  Scott  has  an  old  barber,  “a  praiser  of  the  time  past,” 
in  which  every  person  of  any  importance  wore  his  wig.  But 
times  had  so  changed  that  there  were  left  only  three  wigs  in  the 
parish,  one  of  which  was  worn  by  “ Monkbarns,”  the  antiquary. 
Caxon,  the  barber,  was  naturally  solicitous  about  these  three 
wigs,  the  only  remnants  of  the  prosperous  times  in  which  his 
skill  was  employed  in  dressing  so  many  wigs.  In  the  account 
of  the  terrible  condition  of  Sir  Arthur  Wardour  and  his  daughter 
— one  of  the  most  thrilling  descriptions  ever  written — Monk- 
barns  is  represented  as  pressing  forward  to  the  very  brink  of 
the  crag  and  extending  his  head  over  the  dizzy  height.  “ Haud 
a care,  haud  a care,  Monkbarns ! ” cried  Caxon,  clinging  to  the 
skirts  of  his  patron  and  withholding  him  from  danger  as  far  as 

26 


3°6 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


his  strength  permitted — “ God’s  sake,  haud  a care ! Sir  Arthur’s 
drowned  already;  an  ye  fa’  over  the  cleugh  too,  there  will  be 
but  ae  wig  left  in  the  parish,  and  that’s  the  minister’s.”  This 
‘•'comic”  incident  does  not  impair  the  effect  of  the  “serious” 
description;  but  an  inferior  writer  would  not  have  ventured  to 
introduce  it.  The  author  was  a master  who  was  able  to  follow 
nature. 

Mrs.  Broderip,  speaking  of  herself  and  her  brother  after  the 
return  from  the  Continent  to  England,  says  in  the  memoir  of 
her  brother : “ Two  or  three  uneventful  years  passed  so  far  as 
we  were  concerned,  though  during  these  years  my  father  had 
made  his  mark  on  the  literature  of  the  time  in  that  wonderful 
poem,  ‘ Miss  Kilmansegg,’  which  was  the  first  popular  develop- 
ment of  his  more  serious  powers.”  But  though  the  tenor  of 
this  poem  is  “serious,”  yet  there  are  “comic”  tones  which 
unite  harmoniously  with  the  “ serious,”  like  the  falsetto  which 
the  Tyrolese  minstrels  join  to  the  chest-voice  without  showing 
any  break.  For  instance : 

She  was  not  doomed,  for  bread  to  eat, 

To  be  put  to  her  hands  as  well  as  her  feet — 

To  carry  home  linen  from  mangles — 

Or  heavy-hearted  and  weary-limbed 
To  dance  on  rope  in  a jacket  trimmed 
With  as  many  blows  as  spangles. 

Then  as  to  the  choice  of  a name  for  the  infant  heiress  is 
the  following  stanza,  in  answer  to  Shakespeare’s  “ What ’s  in 
a name?” 

A name?  If  the  party  had  a voice, 

What  mortal  would  be  a Bugg  by  choice, 

As  a Hogg,  a Grubb,  or  a Chubb  rejoice, 

Or  any  such  nauseous  blazon  ? 

Not  to  mention  many  a vulgar  name, 

That  would  make  a doorplate  blush  for  shame, 

If  doorplates  were  not  so  brazen ! 

1 And  what  a comic  picture  is  this  of  the  father  at  the 
christening,  who  was  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight!  There 


. u i»  km; ) 

IH.  ■ tiiavi v nf  iif:: 

THOMAS  HOOD.  307 

is  scarcely  to  be  found  in  any  language  a more  ludicrous 
passage : 

And  Sir  Jacob  the  Father  strutted  and  bowed, 

And  smiled  to  himself,  and  laughed  aloud, 

To  think  of  his  heiress  and  daughter — 

And  then  in  his  pockets  he  made  a grope, 

And  then  in  the  fullness  of  joy  and  hope, 

Seemed  washing  his  hands  with  invisible  soap 
In  imperceptible  water. 

In  the  account  of  Miss  Kilmansegg’s  education  is  the  fol- 
lowing stanza,  in  which  the  very  “serious”  meaning  is  clothed 
with  a “comic”  dress: 

The  very  metal  of  merit  they  told, 

And  praised  her  for  being  as  “good  as  gold” 

Till  she  grew  as  a peacock  haughty; 

Of  money  they  talked  the  whole  day  round, 

And  weighed  desert  like  grapes  by  the  pound, 

Till  she  had  an  idea  from  the  very  sound 
That  people  with  nought  were  naughty. 

Most  of  Hood’s  serious  poems  will  be  “a  possession  forever.” 
With  some  of  them  most  persons  are  more  familiar  than  they 
are  with  any  other  poems.  His  poems  that  make  their  dwelling 
in  the  mind  are  particularly  the  poems  that  express  sympathy 
with  the  poor  and  the  suffering,  such  as  “The  Song  of  the 
Shirt,”  “The  Lay  of  the  Laborer,”  “The  Bridge  of  Sighs,” 
“The  Lady’s  Dream.”  And  such  poems  as  these  have  exerted 
greater  influence  on  the  public  mind  than  all  the  essays  of 
political  economists  and  professed  philanthropists.  The  poems 
enter  the  heart,  while  the  essays  only  touch  the  head. 

The  splendid  close  of  the  “Ode  to  Melancholy”  shows  in 
the  most  conspicuous  manner  one  side  of  Hood’s  double  char- 
acter : 

All  things  are  touched  with  melancholy, 

Born  of  the  secret  soul’s  mistrust 
To  feel  her  fair  ethereal  wings 
Weighed  down  with  vile  degraded  dust; 

Even  the  bright  extremes  of  joy 
Bring  on  conclusions  of  disgust, 


3°8 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Like  the  sweet  blossoms  of  the  May, 

Whose  fragrance  ends  in  must. 

O!  give  her  then  her  tribute  just, 

Her  sighs  and  tears  and  musings  holy ! 

There  is  no  music  in  the  life 

That  sounds  with  idiot  laughter  solely ; 

There ’s  not  a string  attuned  to  mirth 
But  has  its  chord  in  melancholy. 

Hood  said  that  he  had  spit  more  blood  and  made  more  puns 
than  any  other  person.  In  regard  to  punning  he  says,  “ I am 
informed  that  certain  monthly,  weekly,  and  very  every-day 
critics  have  taken  great  offense  at  my  puns;  and  I can  not  con- 
ceive how  some  gentlemen  with  one  idea  must  be  perplexed  by 
a double  meaning.  To  my  own  notion  a pun  is  an  accommo- 
dating word,  like  a farmer’s  horse,  with  a pillion  for  an  extra 
sense  to  ride  behind;  it  will  carry  single,  however,  if  required.” 
There  are  puns  and  puns,  Hood’s  puns  “ carrying  double”  better 
than  those  of  any  other  writer,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  extracts 
from  “Miss  Kilmansegg.”  To  Lieutenant  (afterward  Captain) 
de  Franck,  who  had  been  laid  up  at  Posen  and  had  had  his 
head  shaved,  and  who  was  expecting  promotion,  he  writes, 
“You  will  see  the  colonel,  I guess,  or  are  you  the  colonel  your- 
self? It  would  be  fatal  now  to  your  hair  to  have  many  go  over 
your  head.” 

In  the  haughty  letter  of  Lady  Jubb  to  her  housekeeper  after 
“The  Great  Conflagration”  the  lady  says,  “By  this  time  what 
has  happened  will  be  known  in  Shropshire,  but  I forbid  your 
talking.  Politics  belong  to  people  of  property,  and  those  who 
have  no  voice  in  the  country  ought  not  to  speak.  In  your  infe- 
rior situations  it ’s  a duty  to  be  ignorant  of  what  you  know.  . . 
Sir  Jacob  himself  will  write  to  the  bailiff;  and  whatever  may  be 
the  nature  of  his  directions,  I desire  that  no  curiosity  may  be 
indulged  in,  and  above  all  that  you  entertain  no  opinions  of 
your  own.  You  can  not  square  with  the  upper  circles.  I 
would  write  more,  but  I am  going  to  a meeting,  I need  not 
say  where  or  upon  what  subject.” 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


309 


The  following  are  found  in  “Tylney  Hall” : 

As  some  of  the  cuts  designed  for  the  rider  fell  upon  the  beast’s  crup- 
per, she  resented  them  in  kind,  by  wheeling  round  and  dashing  out  so 
vigorously  as  greatly  to  enlarge  the  circle  of  her  acquaintance. 

The  physician  again  descended  the  stairs  with  the  noise  peculiar  to 
persons  of  his  stamp. 

Mrs.  Hanway  was  one  of  those  good  managers  who  in  modelling  a 
figurative  statue  of  Economy  are  apt  to  make  both  ends  meet  by  allowing 
no  waste. 

At  so  early  an  hour  as  noon  she  appeared  to  be  dressed  for  dinner ; 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  a little  overdone. 

It  was  with  just  pride  that  he  could  say: 

If  I may  modestly  appropriate  a merit  it  is  that,  whatever  faults  I have, 
at  least  I have  been  a decent  writer.  In  a species  of  composition  where, 
like  the  ignis  fatnus  that  guides  into  a bog,  a glimmer  of  the  ludicrous 
is  apt  to  lead  the  fancy  into  an  indelicacy,  I feel  some  honest  pride  in 
remembering  that  the  reproach  of  impurity  has  never  been  cast  upon  me 
by  my  judges.  It  has  not  been  my  delight  to  exhibit  the  Muse,  as  it  has 
been  tenderly  called,  “high-kilted.”  I have  had  my  gratification  there- 
fore in  seeing  my  little  volumes  placed  in  the  hands  of  boys  and  girls; 
and  as  I have  children  of  my  own  to  survive  me  I hope,  I have  the  inex- 
pressible comfort  of  thinking  that  hereafter  they  will  be  able  to  cast  their 
eyes  over  the  pages  inscribed  with  my  name  without  a burning  blush  on 
their  young  cheeks  to  reflect  that  the  author  was  their  father. 


NOTE. 

In  1868  I said  to  some  friends,  “Before  I leave  London  I must  go  to 
the  Kensal  Green  Cemetery  to  see  the  monument  to  Hood.  Since  I read 
the  ‘Memorials’  prepared  by  his  daughter  and  son  I have  the  greatest 
affection  for  his  memory.  His  character  was  one  of  the  noblest.  I should 
very  much  like  to  learn  something  about  his  son  and  daughter,  whom  the 
‘Memorials’  have  led  me  to  connect  so  closely  with  him.”  “His  son,” 
said  a friend,  “ lives  in  the  city  and  edits  a paper  called  ‘ Fun.’  ” 

The  day  after  visiting  the  monument  I was  in  the  office  of  the  great 
bookseller,  Sampson  Low,  which  is  near  the  office  of  “Fun,”  when  I 
said,  “I  have  so  great  a regard  for  the  memory  of  Thomas  Hood  that  I 


3IQ 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


think  of  going  over  and  introducing  myself  to  his  son.”  “ I shall  be  glad 
to  give  you  a letter  to  him,”  said  Mr.  Low. 

With  Mr.  Low’s  letter  I went  to  the  office  of  “Fun,”  when  I found 
that  Mr.  Hood  lived  at  Sydenham,  about  seven  miles  from  his  office,  and 
that  he  would  not  be  in  town  again  till  the  next  week.  On  returning  to 
London,  after  several  weeks  spent  on  the  Continent,  I again  went  to  Mr. 
Hood’s  office  and  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  him  there.  Expecting  to 
find  a person  inheriting  some  of  his  father’s  bad  health,  I was  surprised 
to  see  a large  and  handsome  man,  looking  robust  enough  to  be  the  son  of 
Hercules  and  Hebe.  He  told  me  that  his  sister,  Frances  Freeling  Brod- 
erip,  was  a widow;  that  she  had  been  married,  not,  as  I had  supposed, 
to  Broderip  the  Naturalist,  but  to  a clergyman,  cousin  of  the  Naturalist, 
and  that  her  husband  was  dead.  At  another  visit,  to  my  inquiry  about 
the  health  of  his  children  he  replied,  “They  are  well — here  is  one  of  them,” 
pointing  to  a fine-looking  lad  with  every  indication  of  vigorous  health. 

In  1872  I found  him  well,  and  I had  a very  pleasant  time  with  him. 
But  before  my  next  visit,  in  1878,  he  was  dead.  He  died  the  20th  of 
November,  1874,  of  disease  brought  on  by  months  of  anxious  watching 
and  grief  by  the  sick-bed  of  his  wife,  who  died  in  1872.  In  1877  his 
sister  published  a volume  entitled  “Poems,  Humorous  and  Pathetic,  by 
Thomas  Hood  the  Younger.  Edited,  with  a Memoir,  by  his  sister,  Frances 
Freeling  Broderip.”  He  always  called  himself  Tom  Hood,  and  he  believed 
that  he  was  christened  so  till  his  sister  convinced  him  to  the  contrary. 
After  the  death  of  his  father  Tom  was  removed  from  the  school  which  he 
had  been  attending  and  placed  in  a larger  school,  the  junior  school  of  the 
London  University.  After  the  mother’s  death  kind  friends  took  charge 
of  his  education  and  placed  him  to  board  with  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
college.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  became  co-editor  of  a juvenile  period- 
ical, “The  London  University  College  School  Miscellany,”  which  was 
printed  for  circulation  in  the  school.  His  sister  says,  “I  dare  say  I shall 
surprise  many  with  the  fact  that  his  most  ambitious  dreams  and  hopes 
were  to  be  an  artist.  And  yet  evidently  his  father,  no  mean  judge,  had 
years  before  discovered  his  tendencies  in  this  way,  and  I am  sure,  and 
have  always  believed  so,  that  this  was  his  real  vocation.  That  he  pos- 
sessed the  true  artist’s  eye  for  form  and  harmony  of  color,  besides  the 
wealth  of  imagination  which  does  not  always  accompany  the  two  first 
gifts,  most  of  those  who  knew  him  could  testify.”  It  was  decided  that 
he  should  have  a university  education,  and  after  some  preliminary  instruc- 
tion with  that  view  he  was  in  1853  entered  as  a commoner  in  Pembroke 
College,  Oxford.  It  was  understood  that  he  should  study  with  a view  to 
taking  holy  orders;  but  he  found  that  the  church  was  not  his  vocation. 
He  made  a visit  of  some  length  to  a friend  at  Liskeard,  in  Cornwall,  and 
there  took  a lesson  in  practical  editorship.  The  editor  of  the  little  local 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


311 

newspaper,  “The  Liskeard  Gazette,”  had  died,  leaving  the  widow  in 
some  trouble  about  the  management  of  the  paper.  Tom  undertook  to 
edit  it  and  entered  with  zeal  into  all  the  details  of  the  printing-office. 
During  his  stay  here  appeared  his  first  book,  entitled  “Pen  and  Pencil 
Pictures.” 

His  next  work,  “Quips  and  Cranks,”  was  dedicated  to  Lady  Moles- 
worth,  who  had  been  very  kind  to  him  while  he  was  in  Cornwall.  By 
her  influence  he  obtained  a temporary  clerkship  in  the  War  Office,  he 
being  just  too  old  for  the  permanent  staff.  In  the  autumn  of  1859  he 
came  to  stay  with  his  sister  in  order  to  assist  her  in  completing  the  “Me- 
morials.” “On  the  completion  of  this  work,”  says  Mrs.  Broderip,  “we 
went  to  London  to  superintend  the  publication,  my  dear  friend,  Mrs.  S. 
C.  Hall,  opening  her  home  to  me  as  she  has  always  done,  and  giving  us 
all  the  aid  her  generous  heart  could  bestow.”  He  contributed  to  the 
“St.  James’s  Magazine.”  He  also  published  another  volume  of  verse, 
prose,  and  woodcuts,  dedicated  to  Lady  Molesworth. 

In  1862  he  became  for  a short  time  the  editor  of  a little  weekly  period- 
ical called  “Saturday  Night.”  His  sister  says  that  in  the  following  years 
he  also  worked  well,  having  written  three  or  four  charming  children’s 
books  as  well  as  another  novel,  “For  Valour.”  He  also  edited  a com- 
plete edition  of  his  father’s  works,  with  notes  and  explanations. 

In  1865  he  accepted  the  editorship  of  “Fun,”  and,  in  the  language  of 
Mrs.  Broderip,  “he  worked  up  ‘Fun’  from  a very  low  ebb,  by  painful 
and  conscientious  work,  to  the  rank  it  has  now  attained.”  Besides  editing 
“Fun”  he  wrote  two  novels,  “A  Lost  Link”  and  “A  Golden  Heart.” 
During  his  temporary  clerkship,  which  he  resigned  for  “Fun,”  he  was 
married. 

In  1868  he  published  his  first  “Comic  Annual.”  In  the  “Address  to 
the  Reader”  is  the  following  paragraph  : “It  has  always  been  my  aim  to 
do  nothing  unworthy  of  my  father’s  name,  and  I do  not  think  I have  ever 
been  guilty  of  endeavouring  to  associate  my  efforts  with  his  achievements 
or  to  use  his  fame  as  a guarantee  for  my  humble  attempts  in  the  field  of 
literature.  If  I have  seemed  at  any  time  to  imitate  his  style,  I would  ask 
those  who  think  so  to  remember  that  it  was  the  school  in  which  I was 
brought  up,  and  that  I have  all  my  life  considered  him — not  unnaturally 
you  may  say,  if  you  please — the  best  model  I could  copy  either  in  life  or 
in  literature.”  This  annual  series  he  continued  even  up  to  the  last  Christ- 
mas of  his  life ; for,  ill  as  he  was,  he  managed  to  edit  it  and  write  for  it, 
and  it  was  published  about  a month  before  his  death. 

“About  this  time”  (1872),  says  his  sister,  “an  offer  came  which  I 
very  deeply  regret  fell  through — a proposition  that  he  should  go  to  Amer- 
ica and  lecture  on  our  father’s  life  and  works.  He  was  so  eminently  fitted 
for  this,  and  the  entire  change  of  scene,  the  sea  voyage  and  its  consequent 


312 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


rest,  would  have  been  so  good  for  him  that  it  is  a sore  regret  that  he  did 
not  go.” 

In  August,  1873,  he  married  a second  wife.  “We  all  hoped  the 
brightness  and  tender  care  of  his  wife  would  prolong  the  fragile  life  a 
little  longer;  but  it  was  too  late;  there  was  left  only  the  last  flickering  in 
the  socket.”  He  died,  as  has  been  stated,  on  the  20th  of  November, 
1874.  “He  employed  himself  almost  to  the  last  in  drawing  and  dic- 
tating, till  the  feeble  power  failed  at  last,  and  he  gave  in.  He  asked  to 
see  his  friends  and  bid  all  farewell,  and  made  all  his  last  arrangements.” 

He  was  of  a gentle  and  loving  nature,  ever  more  than  willing  to  add 
to  the  pleasures  of  those  around  him.  On  his  leaving  Penge,  near  Syden- 
ham, the  neighbors  presented  him  with  a very  elegant  inkstand,  which 
was  accompanied  with  a dainty  workstand  for  his  wife.  Like  his  father, 
he  loved  children  and  was  greatly  beloved  by  them.  In  his  sickness  he 
received  from  them  letters  and  flowers,  of  which  he  was  as  proud,  says 
his  sister,  “as  if  they  had  been  laurel  crowns;  and  his  kind  little  friends 
have  so  honoured  his  grave  by  sending  their  subscriptions  to  the  ‘ Memo- 
rial Fund’  that  I can  only  compare  it  to  the  grave  of  the  music-singer, 
Walter  von  der  Vogelweide,  where  the  old  legend  says  the  birds  came  to 
drink  and  feed.  These  little  human  nightingales  and  robins  sang  many 
a song  of  peace  to  the  weary  invalid  who  loved  them  so  well,” 


